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ILLINOIS  LIBRARY 

AT  URBANA-CHAMPAIGN 

BOOKSTACKS 


THE     ORIGINS    OF    CONTEMPORARY    FRANCE 


THE 


ANCIENT    REGIME 


BY 


HIPPOLYTE    ADOLPHE    TAINE 

Author  of  "  A  History  of  English  Literature,"  "Italy,"  ttc. 


TRANSLATED    BY 

JOHN   DURAND. 
NEW  EDITION,   REVISED 


COPYBIGHT,  1876,  BT 

HENRY  HOLT. 


/•I 


NOTE    BY    THE    TRANSLATOR. 


In  the  title  of  this  work,  L' Ancien  Regime,  I  have  translated 
the  French  word  ancien  by  the  English  word  "ancient,"  not 
because  the  latter  accurately  expresses  the  meaning  of  the 
former,  but  because  the  French  term  ancien,  as  here  used, 
implies  not  merely  an  old  but  a  special  regime ;  and  because 
since  the  publication  of  De  Tocqueville's  work,  LAncien 
Regime  et  la  Revolution,  the  term  "  ancient "  applied  to 
regime  seems  a  naturalized  translation  of  ancien,  through  its 
^f  frequent  use  in  conversation,  as  well  as  in  print ;  lastly,  because 
Webster  seems  to  sanction  the  translation  of  ancien  by  "  an- 
cient" in  giving  the  French  term  as  one  of  the  etymological 

sources  of  the  English  term. 

IV  D. 

E 
ft 

a 


240068 


PREFACE. 


IN  1849,  being  twenty-one  years  of  age,  and  an  elector,  I  was 
very  much  puzzled,  for  I  had  to  vote  for  fifteen  or  twenty 
deputies,  and,  moreover,  according  to  French  custom,  I  had 
not  only  to  determine  what  candidate  I  would  vote  for,  but 
what  theory  I  should  adopt.  I  had  to  choose  between  a  royalist 
or  a  republican,  a  democrat  or  a  conservative,  a  socialist  or  a 
bonapartist;  as  I  was  neither  one  nor  the  other,  nor  even  any- 
thing, I  often  envied  those  around  me  who  were  so  fortunate  as 
to  have  arrived  at  definite  conclusions.  After  listening  to  various 
doctrines,  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  was  laboring  under  some  mental 
defect.  The  motives  that  influenced  others  did  not  influence 
me.  I  could  not  comprehend  how,  in  political  matters,  a  man 
should  be  governed  by  his  preferences.  My  affirmative  friends 
planned  a  constitution  the  same  as  a  house,  according  to  the 
latest,  simplest,  and  most  complete  notion  of  it,  and  many 
were  offered  for  acceptance — the  mansion  of  a  marquis,  the 
house  of  a  common  citizen,  the  tenement  of  a  laborer,  the 
barracks  of  a  soldier,  the  philanstery  of  a  socialist,  and  even  the 
camp  of  savages.  Each  claimed  that  his  was  "the  true  habi- 
tation for  man,  the  only  one  in  which  a  sensible  person  could 
live."  I  was  not  satisfied  with  such  reasons,  for  I  did  not 
regard  personal  tastes  as  authoritative.  It  seemed  to  me  that  a 
house  should  not  be  built  for  the  architect  alone,  nor  for 
itself,  but  for  the  owner  who  was  to  occupy  it. — Referring  to  the 
owner  for  his  advice,  submitting  to  the  French  people  the  plans 
of  its  future  habitation,  would  evidently  be  either  for  show,  or 
to  deceive  them;  such  a  question,  in  such  a  case,  answers  itself, 
and,  besides,  were  the  answer  allowable,  France  was  scarcely 
better  prepared  for  it  than  myself;  the  combined  ignorance  of 


VI  PREFACE. 

ten  millions  is  not  the  equivalent  of  one  man's  wisdom.  A 
people  may  be  consulted  and,  in  an  extreme  case,  may  deelare 
what  form  of  government  it  would  like  best,  but  not  that  which 
it  most  needs.  Nothing  but  experience  can  determine  this;  it 
must  have  time  to  ascertain  whether  the  political  structure  is 
convenient,  substantial,  able  to  withstand  inclemencies,  and 
adapted  to  customs,  habits,  occupations,  characters,  peculiarities 
and  caprices.  For  example,  the  one  we  have  tried  has  never 
satisfied  us;  we  have  demolished  it  thirteen  times  in  twenty 
years  that  we  might  set  it  up  anew,  and  always  in  vain,  for  never 
have  we  found  one  that  suited  us.  If  other  people  have  been 
more  fortunate,  or  if  various  political  structures  abroad  have 
proved  stable  and  enduring,  it  is  because  these  have  been  erected 
in  a  special  way,  around  some  primitive,  massive  pile,  supported 
by  an  old  central  edifice,  often  restored  but  always  preserved, 
gradually  enlarged,  and,  after  numerous  trials  and  additions, 
adapted  to  the  wants  of  its  occupants.  Never  has  one  been  put 
up  instantaneously,  after  an  entirely  new  design,  and  according 
to  the  measurements  of  pure  reason.  It  is  well  to  admit,  per- 
haps, that  there  is  no  other  way  of  erecting  a  permanent  building, 
and  that  the  sudden  contrivance  of  a  new,  suitable,  and  enduring 
constitution  is  an  enterprise  beyond  the  forces  of  the  human 
mind. 

In  any  event,  I  concluded  for  myself  that,  if  we  ever  discover 
the  one  we  want,  it  will  not  be  through  the  processes  now  in 
vogue.  In  effect,  the  point  is,  to  discover  it,  whether  it  exists, 
and  not  to  submit  it  to  a  vote.  Our  preferences,  in  this  respect, 
would  be  vain;  nature  and  history  have  elected  for  us  in  advance; 
we  must  accommodate  ourselves  to  them  as  it  is  certain  that  they 
will  not  accommodate  themselves  to  us.  The  social  and  political 
forms  into  which  a  people  may  enter  and  remain  are  not  open  to 
arbitration,  but  are  determined  by  its  character  and  its  past.  All, 
even  down  to  the  minutest  details,  should  be  moulded  on  the 
living  features  for  which  they  are  designed;  otherwise,  they  will 
break  and  fall  to  pieces.  Hence  it  is  that,  if  we  succeed  in 
finding  our  constitution,  it  will  come  to  us  only  through  a  study 
of  ourselves,  and  the  more  thoroughly  we  know  ourselves,  the 
greater  our  certainty  in  finding  the  one  that  suits  us.  We  must, 
accordingly,  set  aside  the  usual  methods  and  have  a  clear  con- 


PREFACE.  Vll 

ception  of  the  nation  before  drawing  up  its  constitution.  The 
former  is,  undoubtedly,  a  more  serious  and  more  difficult  task 
than  the  latter.  What  time,  what  study,  what  observations 
correcting  each  other,  what  researches  into  the  past  and  the 
present,  in  all  the  domains  of  thought  and  of  action,  what 
manifold,  secular  efforts  are  necessary  for  acquiring  a  full  and 
precise  idea  of  a  great  people,  which  has  already  lived  to  a  great 
age,  and  which  still  lives  on  !  Only  in  this  way,  however,  can 
what  is  sound  be  established  after  having  resorted  to  empty 
theories,  and  I  resolved,  for  my  own  part,  ai  least,  that,  should 
I  ever  attempt  to  form  a  political  opinion,  it  would  be  only  after 
studying  France. 

What  is  contemporary  France?  To  answer  this  question, 
requires  a  knowledge  of  how  France  was  formed,  or,  what  is 
much  better,  being  present  at  her  formation,  as  if  a  spectator. 
At  the  close  of  the  last  century  she  undergoes  a  transformation, 
like  that  of  an  insect  shedding  its  coat.  Her  ancient  organiza- 
tion breaks  up;  she  herself  rends  the  most  precious  tissues  and 
falls  into  convulsions  which  seem  mortal.  And  then,  there  is 
recovery,  after  multiplied  throes  and  a  painful  lethargy.  But 
her  organization  is  no  longer  what  it  was;  a  new  being,  after 
terrible  internal  travail,  is  substituted  for  the  old  one.  In  1808, 
all  her  leading  features  are  definitely  established:  departments, 
arrondissements,  cantons  and  communes — no  change  has  since 
taken  place  in  her  outward  divisions  and  adjunctions;  the  Con- 
cordat, the  Code,  the  tribunals,  the  University,  the  Institute,  the 
prefects,  the  Council  of  State,  the  imposts,  the  tax-collectors, 
the  Cour  des  Comptes,  with  a  centralized  and  uniform  admin- 
istration— its  principal  organs  remain  the  same;  henceforth, 
every  class,  the  nobles,  the  commonalty,  the  laboring  class,  and 
the  peasants — each  has  the  place,  interests,  sentiments  and 
traditions  that  we  now  observe  at  the  present  day.  Thus,  the 
new  organism  is  at  once  stable  and  complete.  Its  structure, 
its  instincts,  and  its  faculties  indicate  beforehand  the  circle 
within  which  its  thought  or  action  will  be  exercised.  Surround- 
ing nations,  some  precocious,  others  backward,  all  with  greater 
caution,  and  many  with  more  success,  effect  the  same  transfor- 
mation in  passing  from  the  feudal  to  the  modern  State;  the  par- 
turition is  universal  and  nearly  simultaneous.  But  in  the  new, 


Vlll  PREFACE. 

as  well  as  under  the  old  form,  the  weak  are  always  the  prey  of 
the  strbng.  Woe  to  those  whose  too  tardy  evolution  has  sub- 
jected them  to  the  neighbor  suddenly  emerged  from  his  chrysalis 
state  fully  armed  !  Woe  likewise  to  him  whose  too  violent 
and  too  brusque  evolution  has  disturbed  the  balance  of  internal 
economy,  and  who,  exaggerating  his  governing  means,  radically 
changing  fundamental  organs,  impoverishing  by  degrees  his 
vital  substance,  is  condemned  to  rash  undertakings,  to  debility 
and  to  impotence,  surrounded  by  better  proportioned  and 
healthier  neighbors !  In  the  organization  effected  by  France  at 
the  beginning  of  the  century  all  the  main  lines  of  her  contempo- 
raneous history  are  traceable,  —  political  revolutions,  social 
Utopias,  the  divisions  of  classes,  the  role  of  the  Church,  the  con- 
duct of  the  nobles,  of  the  bourgeoisie  and  of  the  people,  and  the 
development,  direction  or  deviation  of  philosophy,  literature 
and  science.  Hence  it  is  that,  in  striving  to  comprehend  our 
actual  situation,  we  constantly  revert  back  to  the  terrible  and 
fruitful  crisis  by  which  the  Ancient  Regime  produced  the  Revo- 
lution, and  the  Revolution  the  Modern  Regime. 

The  Ancient  Regime,  the  Revolution,  the  Modern  Regime, 
are  the  three  conditions  of  things  which  I  shall  strive  to  describe 
with  exactitude.  I  have  no  hesitation  in  stating  that  this  is  my 
sole  object.  A  historian  may  be  allowed  the  privilege  of  a  natu- 
ralist ;  I  have  regarded  my  subject  the  same  as  the  metamor- 
phosis of  an  insect.  The  event,  furthermore,  is  so  interesting  as 
to  render  it  worthy  of  study  for  itself  alone  ;  no  effort  is  neces- 
sary to  exclude  mental  reservations.  Without  taking  any  side, 
curiosity  becomes  scientific  and  centres  on  the  secret  forces 
which  direct  the  wonderful  process.  These  forces  consist  of  the 
situation,  the  passions,  the  ideas,  and  the  wills  of  each  group  of 
actors,  and  which  can  be  defined  and  almost  measured.  They 
are  in  full  view  ;  we  need  not  resort  to  conjecture  about  them, 
to  doubtful  surmises,  to  vague  indications.  We  enjoy  the  singu- 
lar good  fortune  of  seeing  the  men  themselves,  their  exterior  and 
their  interior.  The  Frenchmen  of  the  ancient  regime  are  still 
within  visual  range.  All  of  us,  in  our  youth,  have  encountered 
one  or  more  of  the  survivors  of  this  vanished  society.  Many  of 
their  dwellings,  with  the  furniture,  still  remain  intact.  Their  pic- 
tures and  engravings  enable  us  to  take  part  in  their  domestic  life, 


PREFACE.  ix 

see  how  they  dress,  observe  their  attitudes  and  follow  their  move- 
ments. Through  their  literature,  philosophy,  scientific  pursuits, 
gazettes,  and  correspondence,  we  can  reproduce  their  feeling  and 
thought,  and  even  enjoy  their  familiar  conversation.  The  multi- 
tude of  memoirs,  issuing  during  the  past  thirty  years  from  public 
and  private  archives,  lead  us  from  one  drawing-room  to  another, 
as  if  we  bore  with  us  so  many  letters  of  introduction.  The  inde- 
pendent descriptions  by  foreign  travellers,  in  their  journals  and 
correspondence,  correct  and  complete  the  portraits  which  this 
society  has  traced  of  itself.  Everything  that  it  could  state  has 
been  stated,  except  what  was  commonplace  and  well-known  to 
contemporaries,  whatever  seemed  technical,  tedious  and  vulgar, 
whatever  related  to  the  provinces,  to  the  bourgeoisie,  to  the  peas- 
ant, to  the  laboring  man,  to  the  government,  and  to  the  house- 
hold. It  has  been  my  aim  to  supply  these  omissions,  and  make 
France  known  to  others  outside  the  small  circle  of  the  literary 
and  the  cultivated.  Owing  to  the  kindness  of  M.  Maury  and  the 
valuable  indications  of  M.  Boutaric  I  have  been  able  to  examine 
a  mass  of  manuscript  documents,  consisting  of  the  correspond- 
ence of  numerous  intendants,  customs-directors,  farmers-general, 
magistrates,  employees  and  private  individuals,  of  every  kind  and 
degree,  during  the  last  thirty  years  of  the  ancient  regime,  includ- 
ing reports  and  memorials  belonging  to  the  various  departments 
of  the  royal  household,  the  proch-verbaux  and  cahiers  of  the 
States-General,  contained  in  one  hundred  and  seventy-six  vol- 
umes, the  despatches  of  military  officers  in  1789  and  1790,  the 
letters,  memoirs  and  detailed  statistics,  preserved  in  the  one  hun- 
dred boxes  of  the  ecclesiastical  committee,  the  correspondence, 
in  ninety-four  files,  of  the  department  and  municipal  authorities, 
with  the  ministries  from  1 790  to  1 799,  the  reports  of  the  Coun- 
cillors of  State  on  mission  at  the  end  of  1801,  the  reports  of  pre- 
fects under  the  Consulate,  the  Empire,  and  the  Restoration  down 
to  1823,  and  such  a  quantity  of  unknown  and  instructive  docu- 
ments besides  these  that  the  history  of  the  Revolution  seems, 
indeed,  to  be  still  unwritten.  In  any  event,  it  is  only  such  docu- 
ments which  can  portray  to  us  all  these  animated  figures,  the 
lesser  nobles,  the  curates,  the  monks,  the  nuns  of  the  provinces, 
the  aldermen  and  bourgeoisie  of  the  towns,  the  attorneys  and 
syndics  of  the  country  villages,  the  laborers  and  artisans,  the  offi- 


X  PREFACE. 

cers  and  the  soldiers.  These  alone  enable  us  to  contemplate  and 
appreciate  in  detail  the  various  conditions  of  humanity,  the  in- 
terior of  a  parsonage,  of  a  convent,  of  a  town-council,  the  wages 
of  a  workman,  the  produce  of  a  farm,  the  taxes  levied  on  a  peas- 
ant, the  duties  of  a  tax-collector,  the  expenditure  of  a  noble  or 
prelate,  the  budget,  retinue  and  ceremonial  of  a  court.  Thanks 
to  such  resources,  we  are  able  to  give  precise  figures,  to  know 
hour  by  hour  the  occupations  of  a  day  and,  better  still,  read  off 
the  bill  of  fare  of  a  grand  dinner,  and  recompose  all  parts  of  a 
full-dress  costume.  We  have  again,  on  the  one  hand,  samples 
of  the  materials  of  the  dresses  worn  by  Marie  Antoinette,  pinned 
on  paper  and  classified  by  dates,  and,  on  the  other,  we  can  tell 
what  clothes  were  worn  by  the  peasant,  describe  the  bread  he  ate, 
specify  the  flour  it  was  made  of,  and  state  the  cost  of  a  pound  of 
it  in  sous  and  deniers.  With  such  resources  one  becomes  almost 
contemporary  with  the  men  whose  history  one  writes  and,  more 
than  once,  in  the  Archives,  I  have  found  myself  speaking  almost 
aloud  with  them  while  tracing  their  old  handwriting  on  the 
time-stained  paper  before  me. 

August,  1875. 


CONTENTS. 

PKXFACK,       .       .       . 


BOOK  FIRST. 

THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY. 

CHAPTER  I i 

THK  ORIGIN  OF  PRIVILEGES. — I.  Services  and  recompenses  of  the  clergy, 
p.  i. — II.  Services  and  recompenses  of  the  nobles,  p.  4. — III.  Services 
and  recompenses  of  the  king,  p.  9. 

CHAPTER  II 13 

PRIVILEGES. — I.  Number  of  the  privileged  classes,  p.  13. — II.  Their  pos- 
sessions, capital,  and  revenue,  p.  13. — III.  Their  immunities,  p  16. — IV. 
Their  feudal  rights. — These  advantages  the  remains  of  primitive  sover- 
eignty, p.  19. — V.  They  may  be  justified  by  local  and  general  services, 
p.  26. 

CHAPTER  III 28 

LOCAL  SERVICES  DUE  BY  THE  PRIVILEGED  CLASSES. — I.  Examples  in  Ger- 
many and  England. — These  services  not  rendered  by  the  privileged 
classes  in  France,  p.  28. — II.  Resident  seigniors. — Remains  of  the  be- 
neficent feudal  spirit. — They  are  not  rigorous  with  their  tenants  but  no 
longer  retain  the  local  government. — Their  isolation. — Insignificance  or 
mediocrity  of  their  means  of  subsistence. — Their  expenditure. — Not  in 
a  condition  to  remit  dues. — Sentiments  of  the  peasantry  towards  them, 
p.  30. — III.  Absentee  seigniors. — Vast  extent  of  their  fortunes  and 
rights.  —  Possessing  greater  advantages  they  owe  greater  services. — 
Reasons  for  their  absenteeism. — Effect  of  it. — Apathy  of  the  provinces. 
—Condition  of  their  estates. — They  give  no  alms. — Misery  of  their 
tenantry. — Exactions  of  then-  farmers. — Exigencies  of  their  debts. — 
State  of  their  justiciary. — Effects  of  their  hunting  rights. — Sentiments 
of  the  peasantry  towards  them,  p.  40. 

CHAPTER  IV 60 

PUBLIC  SERVICES  DUE  BY  THE  PRIVILEGED  CLASSES. — I.  An  English  ex- 
ample. — The  privileged  class  renders  no  service  in  France. — The  influ- 
ence and  rights  which  remain  to  them. — They  use  them  only  for  them 
selves,  p.  60. — II.  Assemblies  of  the  clergy.— They  serve  only  ecclesias 


Kfi  CONTENTS. 

tical  interests. — The  clergy  exempted  from  taxation. — Solicitations  of  its 
agents. — Its  zeal  against  the  protestants,  p.  61. — III.  Influence  of  the  no- 
bles.— Regulations  in  their  favor. — Preferments  obtained  by  them  in  the 
church. — Distribution  of  bishoprics  and  abbeys. — Preferments  obtained 
by  them  from  the  State. — Governments,  offices,  sinecures,  pensions,  gra 
tuities. — Instead  of  being  useful  they  are  an  expense,  p.  64. — IV.  Isolation 
of  the  chiefs. — Sentiments  of  subordinates. — Provincial  nobility. — The 
curates,  p.  72. — V.  The  king. — The  most  privileged  of  all. — Having  mo- 
nopolized all  powers,  he  takes  upon  himself  their  functional  activity. — 
The  burden  of  this  task. — He  evades  it  or  is  incompetent. — His  con- 
science at  ease. — France  is  his  property. — How  he  abuses  it — Royalty 
the  center  of  abuses,  p.  77. — VI.  Latent  disorganization  in  France,  p.  84. 

BOOK  SECOND. 

HABITS  AND  CHARACTERS. 
CHAPTER  I 86 

THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  SOCIAL  HABITS  UNDER  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME. — The 
Court  and  a  life  of  pomp  and  parade. — I.  The  physical  aspect  and  the 
moral  character  of  Versailles,  p.  87. — II.  The  king's  household. — Its 
officials  and  expenses. — His  military  family,  his  stable,  kennel,  chapel, 
attendants,  table,  chamber,  wardrobe,  outhouses,  furniture,  journeys, 
p.  91. — III.  The  society  of  the  king. — Officers  of  the  household. — In- 
vited guests,  p.  98. — IV.  The  king's  occupations. — Rising  in  the  morn- 
ing, mass,  dinner,  walks,  hunting,  supper,  play,  evening  receptions. — 
He  is  always  on  parade  and  before  company,  p.  104. — V.  Diversions  of 
the  royal  family  and  of  the  court. — Louis  XV. — Louis  XV.,  p.  109. — 
VI.  Other  similar  lives. — Princes  and  princesses. — Seigniors  of  the 
court. — Financiers  and  parvenues. — Ambassadors,  ministers,  governors, 
officers-ge'ne'raux,  p.  1 13. — VII.  Prelates,  seigniors  and  minor  provincial 
nobles. — The  feudal  aristocracy  transformed  into  a  drawing-room  group, 
p.  119. 

CHAPTER  II 123 

DRAWING-ROOM  LIFE. — I.  Perfect  only  in  France. — Reasons  for  this  de- 
rived from  the  French  character. — Reasons  derived  from  the  tone  of  the 
court. — This  life  becomes  more  and  more  agreeable  and  absorbing,  p. 
123. — II.  Subordination  to  it  of  other  interests  and  duties. — Indifference 
to  public  affairs. — They  are  merely  a  subject  of  jest. — Neglect  of  private 
affairs. — Disorder  in  the  household  and  abuse  of  money,  p.  126. — III. 
Moral  divorce  of  husband  and  wife. — Gallantry. — Separation  of  parents 
and  children. — Education,  its  object  and  omissions. — The  tone  of  servants 
and  purveyors. — Pleasure- seeking,  universal,  p.  131. — IV.  The  charm 
of  this  life. — Good-breeding  in  the  i8th  Century. — Its  perfection  and 
its  resources. — Taught  and  prescribed  under  feminine  authority,  p.  138. 
— V.  What  constitutes  happiness  in  the  i8th  Century. — The  fascination 
of  display. — Indolence,  recreations,  light  conversation,  p.  143. — VI. 
Gayety  in  the  i8th  Century. — Its  causes  and  effects. — Toleration  and 


CONTENTS.  rii 

license.— Balls,  fetes,  hunts,  banquets,  pictures.—  Freedom  of  thfl 
magistrates  and  prelates,  p.  147.— VII.  The  principal  diversion,  elegant 
comedy. — Parades  and  extravagance,  p.  152. 

CHAPTER  III  ...  -      '57 

DISADVANTAGES  OF  THIS  DRAWING-ROOM  LIFE. — I.  Its  barrenness  and 
artificiality. — Return  to  nature  and  sentiment,  p.  157. — II.  Its  impres- 
sionability the  final  trait  which  completes  the  physiognomy  of  the 
century. — Date  of  its  advent. — Its  symptoms  in  art  and  in  literature.  — 
Its  dominion  in  private. — Its  affectations. — Its  sincerity. — Its  delicacy, 
p.  160. — III.  The  failings  of  character  thus  formed. — Adapted  to  on* 
situation  but  not  to  a  contrary  situation. — Defects  of  intelligence. — De- 
fects of  disposition. — Such  a  character  is  disarmed  by  good- breeding, 
p.  165. 

BOOK  THIRD. 

THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  DOCTRINE. 

CHAPTER  I '  170 

THE  COMPOSITION  OF  THE  REVOLUTIONARY  SPIRIT. — Scientific  acquisitions 
its  first  element. — I.  The  accumulation  and  progress  of  discoveries  in 
science  and  in  nature. — They  serve  as  a  starting-point  for  the  new  phi- 
Insophers,  p.  170. — II.  Change  of  the  point  of  view  in  the  science  of 
man. —  It  is  detached  from  theology  and  is  united  with  the  natural 
sciences,  p.  175. —  III.  The  transformations  of  history. — Voltaire. — 
Criticism  and  conceptions  of  unity. — Montesquieu. — An  outline  of  social 
laws,  177. — IV.  The  transformation  of  psychology. — Condillac. — The 
theory  of  sensation  and  of  signs,  p.  181. — V.  The  analytical  method. — 
Its  principle. — The  conditions  requisite  to  make  it  productive.— These 
conditions  wanting  or  inadequate  in  the  i8th  century. — The  truth  and 
survival  of  the  principle,  p.  183. 

CHAPTER  II 184 

THE  CLASSIC  SPIRIT,  THE  SECOND  ELEMENT. — I.  Its  signs,  duration  and 
power. — Its  origin  and  public  supporters. — Its  vocabulary,  grammar  and 
style. — Its  method,  merits  and  defects,  p.  184. — II.  Its  original  de- 
ficiency.— Signs  of  this  in  the  l8th  century. — It  grows  with  time  and 
success. — Proofs  of  this  growth  in  the  i8th  century. — Serious  poetry, 
the  drama,  history  and  romances. — Short-sighted  views  of  man  and  of 
human  existence,  p.  194. — III.  The  philosophic  method  in  conformity 
with  it. — Ideology. — Abuse  of  the  mathematical  process. — Condillac, 
Rousseau,  Mably,  Condorcet,  Volney,  Sieyes,  Cabanis,  ard  de  Tracy, 
— Excesses  of  simplification  and  boldness  of  deduction,  p.  201. 

CHAPTER  III 204 

COMBINATION  OF  THE  TWO  ELEMENTS.— I    The  doctrine,  its  pretensions, 

and  its  character. — A  new  authority  for  reason  in  the  regulation  of  human 

affairs. — Government  thus  far  traditional,  p.  204. — II.  Origin,  nature  and 

value  of  hereditary  prejudice. — How  far  custom,  religion  and  government 

b 


fft  CONTENTS. 

are  legitimate,  p.  207 — III.  The  classic  intellect  incapable  of  accepting 
this  point  of  view. — The  past  and  present  titles  of  tradition  misunder- 
stood.— Reason  undertakes  to  set  them  aside,  p.  21 1. — IV.  Two  stages 
in  this  operation. — Voltaire,  Montesquieu,  the  deists  and  the  reformers 
represent  the  first  one. — What  they  destroy  and  what  thej  respect,  p.  214. 
—V.  The  second  stage,  a  return  to  nature. — Diderot,  d'Holbach  and  the 
materialists. — Theory  of  animated  matter  and  spontaneous  organization. 
— The  moral  of  animal  instinct  and  self-interest  properly  understood,  p. 
216. — VI.  Rousseau  and  the  spiritualists. — The  original  goodness  of 
man. — The  mistake  committed  by  civilization. — The  injustice  of  property 
and  of  society,  p.  221. — VII.  The  forlorn  hope  of  the  philosophic  party. 
— Naigeon,  Sylvain  Mare'chal,  Mably,  Morelly. — The  entire  discredit  of 
traditions  and  institutions  derived  from  it,  p.  230. 

CHAPTER  IV 232 

THE  ORGANIZATION  OF  SOCIETY  IN  THE  FUTURE. — I.  The  mathematical 
method. — Definition  of  man  in  the  abstract — The  social  contract — Inde- 
pendence and  equality  of  the  contractors. — All  equal  before  the  law  and 
each  sharing  in  the  sovereignty,  p.  232. —  II.  The  first  result — The 
theory  easily  applied. — Confidence  in  it  due  to  belief  in  man's  inherent 
goodness  and  reasonableness,  p.  234. — III.  The  inadequacy  and  fragility 
of  reason  in  man. — The  rarity  and  inadequacy  of  reason  in  humanity. 
—Subordination  of  reason  in  human  conduct. —  Brutal  and  dangerous 
forces. — The  nature  and  utility  of  government. — Government  impossible 
under  the  new  theory,  p.  238. — IV.  The  second  result. — The  new  theory 
leads  to  despotism. — Precedents  for  this  theory. — Administrative  central- 
ization.— The  Utopia  of  the  Economists. — Invalidity  of  preceding  rights. 
— Collateral  associations  not  tolerated. — Complete  surrender  of  the  in- 
dividual to  the  community. — Rights  of  the  State  in  relation  to  prop- 
erty, education  and  religion. — The  State  a  Spartan  convent,  p.  244. 
—V.  Complete  triumph  and  last  excesses  of  classic  reason. — How  it  be- 
comes monomania. — Why  its  work  is  not  enduring,  p.  250. 

BOOK  FOURTH. 

THE  PROPAGATION  OF  THE  DOCTRINE. 

CHAPTER  I 252 

SUCCESS  OF  THIS  PHILOSOPHY  IN  FRANCE. — Failure  of  the  same  philoso- 
phy in  England. — I.  Causes  of  this  difference. — The  art  of  writing  in 
France. — Its  superiority  at  this  epoch. — It  serves  as  the  vehicle  of  new 
ideas. — Books  are  written  for  people  of  the  world. — The  philosophers  are 
people  of  the  world  and  consequently  writers. — This  accounts  for  philoso- 
phy descending  to  the  drawing-room,  p.  253. — II.  Owing  to  this  method 
it  becomes  popular,  p.  256. — III.  Owing  to  style  it  becomes  pleasing.— 
Two  stimulants  peculiar  to  the  i8th  century,  coarse  humor  and  irony,  p 
257. — IV.  The  art  and  processes  of  the  masters. — Montesquieu. — Vo* 
taire.—  Diderot — Rousseau. — "  The  Marriage  of  Figaro,"  p.  259. 


CONTENTS.  vt 

CHAPTER  II  277 

THE  FRENCH  PUBLIC. — I.  The  Aristocracy. — Novelty  commonly  repug- 
nant to  it. — Conditions  of  this  repugnance. — Example  in  England,  p. 
277. — II.  The  opposite  conditions  found  in  France. — Indolence  of  the 
upper  class. — Philosophy  seems  an  intellectual  drill. — Besides  this, 
subject  for  conversation. — Philosophic  converse  in  the  l8th  century. — 
Its  superiority  and  its  charm. — The  influence  it  exercises,  p.  279. — III. 
Further  effects  of  indolence. —  The  sceptical,  licentious  and  seditious 
spirit. —  Previous  resentment  and  fresh  discontent  at  the  established 
order  of  things. — Sympathy  for  the  theories  against  it. — How  far  ac- 
cepted, p.  284. — IV.  Their  diffusion  among  the  upper  class. — Progress  of 
incredulity  in  religion. — Its  causes. — It  breaks  out  under  the  Regency. — 
Increasing  irritation  against  the  clergy. — Materialism  in  the  drawing, 
room. — Estimate  of  the  sciences. — Final  opinion  on  religion. — Scepti- 
cism of  the  higher  clergy,  p.  287. — V.  Progress  of  political  opposition. 
— Its  origin. — The  economists  and  the  parliamentarians. — They  prepare 
the  way  for  the  philosophers. —  Political  fault-finding  in  the  drawing- 
rooms. — Female  liberalism,  p.  294. — VI.  Infinite,  vague  aspirations. — 
Generosity  of  sentiments  and  of  conduct. —  The  mildness  and  good 
intentions  of  the  government. — Its  blindness  and  optimism,  p.  297. 

CHAPTER  III  .......     305 

THE  MIDDLE  CLASS.— I.  The  former  spirit  of  the  Third-Estate. — Public 
matters  concern  the  king  only. — Limits  of  the  Jansenist  and  parliament- 
arian opposition,  p.  305. — II.  Change  in  the  condition  of  the  bourgeois. — 
He  becomes  wealthy. — He  makes  loans  to  the  State. — The  danger  of  his 
creditorship. — He  interests  himself  in  public  matters,  p.  307. — III.  He 
rises  on  the  social  ladder. — The  noble  draws  near  to  him. — He  becomes 
cultivated. — He  enters  into  society. — He  regards  himself  as  the  equal  of 
the  noble. — Privileges  an  annoyance,  p.  311. — IV.  Philosophy  in  the 
minds  thus  fitted  for  it. — That  of  Rousseau  prominent. — This  philosophy 
in  harmony  with  new  necessities. — It  is  adopted  by  the  Third-Estate,  p. 
315. — V.  Its  effect  therein. — The  formation  of  revolutionary  passions.— 
Levelling  instincts. — The  craving  for  dominion. — The  Third-Estate  de- 
cides and  it  constitutes  the  nation. — Chimeras,  ignorance,  exaltation,  p. 
319. — VI.  Summary,  p.  327. 

BOOK  FIFTH. 

THE  PEOPLE. 

CHAPTER  I 329 

I.  Privations. — Under  Louis  XIV.— Under  Louis  XV. — Under  Louis 
XVI,  p.  329. — II.  The  condition  of  the  peasant  during  the  last  thirty 
years  of  the  Ancient  Regime. — His  precarious  subsistence. — State  of 
agriculture. — Uncultivated  farms. — Poor  cultivation. — Inadequate  wa- 
ges.— Lack  of  comforts,  p.  337. — III.  Aspects  of  the  country  and  of  the 
peasantry,  p.  342. — IV.  How  the  peasant  becomes  a  proprietor. — H« 


rrf  CONTENTS. 

is  no  better  off. — Increase  of  taxes. — He  is  the  "mule"  of  the  Ancient 
Regime,  p.  345. 

CHAPTER  II 349 

TAXATION  THE  PRINCIPAL  CAUSE  OF  MISERY. — I.  Direct  taxes. — State  of 
different  domains  at  the  end  of  the  reign  of  Louis  XV. — Levies  of  the 
tithe-owner  and  of  the  fisc. — What  remains  to  the  proprietor,  p.  349. — 
II.  State  of  certain  provinces  on  the  outbreak  of  the  Revolution. — The 
tattle,  and  other  imposts. — The  proportion  of  these  taxes  in  relation  to 
income. — The  sum  total  immense,  p.  351. — III.  Four  direct  taxes  on 
the  common  laborer,  p.  353. — IV.  Collections  and  seizures,  p.  354. — V. 
Indirect  taxes. — The  salt-tax  and  the  excise,  p.  358. — VI.  Why  taxation 
is  so  burdensome. —  Exemptions  and  privileges,  p.  362. —  VII.  The 
octrois  of  towns. — The  poor  the  greatest  sufferers,  p.  368. — VIII.  Com- 
plaints in  the  memorials,  p.  370. 

CHAPTER  III 374 

INTELLECTUAL  STATE  OF  THE  PEOPLE. — I.  Intellectual  incapacity. — How 
ideas  are  transformed  into  marvellous  stories,  p.  374. — II.  Political  in- 
capacity.— Interpretation  of  political  rumors  and  of  government  action, 
p.  377. — III.  Destructive  impulses. — The  object  of  blind  rage. — Dis- 
trust of  natural  leaders. — Suspicion  of  them  changed  into  hatred. — Dis- 
position of  the  people  in  1789,  p.  379. — IV.  Insurrectionary  leaders  and 
recruits. — Poachers. — Smugglers  and  dealers  in  contraband  salt. — Ban- 
ditti.— Beggars  and  vagabonds. — Advent  of  brigands. — The  people  of 
Paris,  p.  380. 

CHAPTER  IV 390 

I.  Military  force  declines. — How  the  army  is  recruited. — How  the  soldier 
is  treated,  p.  390. — II.  The  social  organization  is  dissolved. — No  centrai 
rallying-point. — Inertia  of  the  provinces. — Ascendency  of  Paris,  p.  393. 
— III.  Direction  of  the  current. — The  people  led  by  lawyers. — Theories 
and  piques  the  sole  surviving  forces,  p.  395. 

CHAPTER  V 398 

I.  P-  398.— II,  P.  400- 

NOTES. 

Note  I,  p.  403. — Note  2,  p.  404. — Note  3,  p.  409. — Note  4,  p.  410.— Note 
S*  p.  4«»- 


THE    ANCIENT    REGIME. 


BOOK   FIRST. 
Structure  of  &ocf**8» 

CHAPTER  I. 

THE  ORIGIN  OF  PRIVILEGES.  —  I.  Services  and  Recompenses  of  the  Clergy.  ' 
—II.  Services  and  Recompenses  of  the  Nobles.4-111.  Services  and  Recom- 
penses of  the  King.  ! 

s\ 

IN  1789  three  classes  of  persons,  the  Clergy,  the  Nobles,  and 
the  King,  occupied  the  most  prominent  position  in  the  State, 
with  all  the  advantages  which  it  comports;  namely,  authority, 
property,  honors,  or,  at  the  very  least,  privileges,  immunities, 
favors,  pensions,  preferences,  and  the  like.  If  they  occupied 
this  position  for  so  long  a  time,  it  is  because  for  so  long  a  time 
they  had  deserved  it.  They  had,  in  short,  through  an  immense 
and  secular  effort,  constructed  by  degrees  the  three  principal 
foundations  of  modem  society. 

I. 

Of  the  three  superposed  foundations  the  most  ancient  and 
deepest  was  the  work  of  the  clergy.  For  twelve  hundred  years 
and  more  they  had  labored  upon  it,  both  as  architects  and  work- 
men, at  first  alone  and  then  almost  alone.  In  the  beginning, 
during  the  first  four  centuries,  they  constituted  religion  and  the 
church.  Let  us  ponder  over  these  two  words,  in  order  to  weigh 
them  well.  On  the  one  hand,  in  a  society  founded  on  conquest, 
hard  and  cold  like  a  machine  of  brass,  forced  by  its  very  struct 
f 


2  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  i. 

ure  to  destroy  among  its  subjects  all  courage  to  act  and  all  desire 
to  live,  they  had  proclaimed  the  "glad  tidings,"  held  forth  the 
"kingdom  of  God,"  preached  loving  resignation  in  the  hands  of 
a  Heavenly  Father,  inspired  patience,  gentleness,  humility,  self- 
abnegation,  and  charity,  thus  opening  the  only  issues  by  which 
man  stifling  in  the  Roman  ergastulum  could  again  breathe  and 
see  daylight — and  this  is  religion.  On  the  other  hand,  in  a  State 
gradually  undergoing  depopulation,  crumbling  away,  and  fatally 
becoming  a  prey,  they  had  formed  a  living  society  governed  by 
laws  and  discipline,  rallying  around  a  common  object  and  a 
common  doctrine,  sustained  by  the  devotion  of  chiefs  and  by 
he  obedience  of  believers,  alone  capable  of  subsisting  beneath 
the  flood  of  barbarians  which  the  empire  in  ruin,  suffered  to  pour 
in  through  its  breaches — and  this  is  the  church. 

The  Clergy  continues  to  build  on  these  two  first  foundations, 
and  after  the  invasion,  for  over  five  hundred  years,  it  saves  what 
it  can  still  save  of  human  culture.  It  sends  missionaries  to  the 
barbarians  or  converts  them  directly  after  their  entrance;  this  is 
of  vast  service ;  we  can  estimate  it  by  one  fact  alone  :  In  Great 
Britain,  which  like  Gaul  had  become  Latin,  but  whereof  the 
conquerors  remained  pagan  during  a  century  and  a  half,  arts, 
industries,  society,  language,  all  were  destroyed;  nothing  re- 
mained of  an  entire  people,  either  massacred  or  fugitive,  but 
slaves.  We  have  still  to  divine  their  traces ;  reduced  to  the  con- 
dition of  beasts  of  burden,  they  disappear  from  history.  Such 
might  have  been  the  fate  of  Europe  if  the  clergy  had  not 
promptly  tamed  the  fierce  brutes  to  which  it  belonged.  Before 
the  bishop  in  his  gilded  cope,  before  the  monk,  "  emaciated,  clad 
in  skins,"  wan,  "dirtier  and  more  spotted  than  a  chameleon,"1 
the  converted  German  stood  fear-stricken  as  before  a  sorcerer 
In  his  calm  moments,  after  the  chase  or  inebriety,  the  vague  div- 
ination of  a  mysterious  and  grandiose  future,  the  dim  conception 
of  an  unknown  tribunal,  the  rudiment  of  conscience  "which  he 
already  had  in  his  forests  beyond  the  Rhine,  arouses  in  him 
through  sudden  alarms  half-formed,  menacing  visions.  At  the 
moment  of  violating  a  sanctuary  he  asks  himself  whether  he 

may  not  fall  on  its  threshold  with  vertigo  and  a  broken  neck.1 
s_ 

1  "Les  Moines  d'Occident,"  by  Montalembert,  I.  277;  St  Lupicin  before  the  Burgun- 
dian  King  Chilperic,  II.  416;  St.  Karileff  before  King  Childebert;  cf.  /<t«nV»,  Gregory  of 
Tours  and  the  Bollandist  collection. 

*  No  legend  is  more  frequently  encountered ;  we  find  it  as  late  ac  the  twelfth  century. 


CHAP.  I.  THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY.  j 

Convinced  through  his  own  perplexity,  he  stops  and  spares  the 
farm,  the  village,  and  the  town  which  live  under  the  priest's  pro- 
tection. If  the  animal  impulse  of  rage,  or  of  primitive  lusts, 
leads  him  to  murder  or  to  rob,  later,  after  satiety,  in  times  of 
sickness  or  of  misfortune,  taking  the  advice  of  his  concubine  or 
of  his  wife,  he  repents  and  makes  restitution  twofold,  tenfold,  a 
hundredfold,  unstinted  in  his  gifts  and  immunities.1  Thus,  over 
the  whole  territory  the  clergy  maintain  and  enlarge  its  asylums 
for  the  oppressed  and  the  vanquished.  On  the  other  hand, 
among  the  warrior  chiefs  with  long  hair,  by  the  side  of  kings 
clad  in  furs,  the  mitred  bishop  and  abbot,  with  shaven  brows, 
take  seats  in  the  assemblies ;  they  alone  know  how  to  use  the  pen 
and  how  to  discuss.  Secretaries,  councillors,  theologians,  they  par- 
ticipate in  all  edicts ;  they  have  their  hand  in  the  government ; 
they  strive  through  its  agency  to  bring  a  little  order  out  of  im- 
mense disorder;  to  render  the  law  more  rational  and  more  hu- 
mane, to  re-establish  or  preserve  piety,  instruction,  justice,  prop- 
erty, and  especially  marriage.  To  their  ascendency  is  certainly 
due  the  police  system,  such  as  it  was,  intermittent  and  incom- 
plete, which  prevented  Europe  from  falling  into  a  Mongolian  an 
archy.  If,  down  to  the  end  of  the  twelfth  century,  the  clergy 
bears  heavily  on  the  princes,  it  is  especially  to  repress  in  them 
and  beneath  them  the  brutal  appetites,  the  rebellions  of  flesh  and 
blood,  the  outbursts  and  relapses  of  irresistible  ferocity  which  are 
undermining  the  social  fabric.  Meanwhile,  in  its  churches  and 
in  its  convents,  it  preserves  the  ancient  acquisitions  of  humanity, 
the  Latin  tongue,  Christian  literature  and  theology,  a  portion  of 
pagan  literature  and  science,  architecture,  sculpture,  painting,  the 
arts  and  industries  which  aid  worship,  the  more  valuable  indus- 
tries which  provide  man  with  bread,  clothing,  and  shelter,  and 
especially  the  greatest  of  all  human  acquisitions,  and  the  most 
opposed  to  the  vagabond  humor  of  the  idle  and  plundering  bar- 
barian, the  habit  and  taste  for  labor.  In  the  rural  districts 
depopulated  through  Roman  fisc,  by  the  revolt  of  the  Ba- 
gaudes,  by  the  invasion  of  the  Germans,  and  by  the  raids  of 
brigands,  the  Benedictine  monk  built  his  cabin  of  boughs  amid 
briers  and  brambles;2  large  areas  around  him,  formerly  culti- 

1  Chilperic,  fo*-«hunple,  acting  under  the  advice  of  Fredegonde  after  the  death  of  thdl 
ihildren. 

*  Montalembert,  ibid,  II.  book  8;  and  especially  "Les  Forets  de  la  France  dans  1'antiq- 
uit£  et  au  Moyen  Age,"  by  Alfred  Maury.  Spin*  et  refret  is  a  phrase  constantly  recur 
ring  in  the  lives  of  the  saints. 


4  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  i. 

vated,  are  nothing  but  abandoned  thickets.  Along  with  his  as- 
sociates he  clears  the  ground  and  erects  buildings ;  he  domesti- 
cates half-tamed  animals ;  he  establishes  a  farm,  a  mill,  a  forge, 
an  oven,  and  shops  for  shoes  and  clothing.  According  to  the 
rules  of  his  order,  he  reads  daily  for  two  hours;  he  gives  seven 
hours  to  manual  labor,  and  he  neither  eats  nor  drinks  more  than 
is  absolutely  essential.  Through  his  intelligent,  voluntary  labor, 
conscientiously  performed  and  with  a  view  to  the  future,  he  pro- 
duces more  than  the  layman.  Through  his  temperate,  judicious, 
ecor.omical  system  he  consumes  less  than  the  layman.  Hence 
it  is  that  where  the  layman  had  failed  he  sustains  himself  and 
even  prospers.1  He  welcomes  the  unfortunate,  feeds  them,  sets 
them  to  work,  and  unites  them  in  matrimony;  beggars,  vaga- 
bonds, and  fugitive  peasants  gather  around  the  sanctuary.  Their 
camp  gradually  becomes  a  village  and  next  a  small  town ;  man 
ploughs  as  soon  as  he  can  be  sure  of  his  crops,  and  becomes  the 
father  of  a  family  as  soon  as  he  considers  himself  able  to  provide 
for  his  offspring.  In  this  way  new  centres  of  agriculture  and  in- 
dustry are  formed,  which  likewise  become  new  centres  of  popu 
lation.2 

To  food  for  the  body  add  food  for  the  soul,  not  less  essential ; 
for,  along  with  aliments,  it  was  still  necessary  to  furnish  man 
with  inducements  to  live,  or,  at  the  very  least,  with  the  resigna- 
tion which  makes  life  endurable ;  also  with  the  affecting  or  poetic 
reverie  which  supplies  the  place  of  absent  felicity.  Down  to  the 
middle  of  the  thirteenth  century  the  clergy  stands  almost  alone 
in  furnishing  this.  Through  its  innumerable  legends  of  saints, 
through  its  cathedrals  and  their  construction,  through  its  statues 
and  their  expression,  through  its  services  and  their  still  transpar- 
ent meaning,  it  rendered  visible  "the  kingdom  of  God,"  and 
set  up.  an  ideal  world  at  the  end  of  the  actual  world,  like  a 
magnificent  golden  pavilion  at  the  end  of  a  miry  morass.3  The 

1  We  find  the  same  thing  to-day  with  the  colonies  of  Trappists  in  Algiers. 

*  "  Polyptique  d'Inninon,"  by  GueVard.  In  this  work  we  see  the  prosperity  of  the  domain 
belonging  to  the  Abbey  of  St.  Germain  des  Pres  at  the  end  of  the  eighth  century.  Accord- 
ing to  M.  Gu^rard's  statistics,  the  peasantry  of  Paliseau  were  about  as  prosperous  in  the 
time  of  Charlemagne  as  at  the  present  day. 

1  There  are  twentj  -five  thousand  lives  of  the  saints,  between  the  sixth  and  tenth  centu- 
ries, collected  by  the  Bollandists.  The  last  that  are  truly  inspired  are  those  of  St  Francis 
of  Assisi  and  his  companions  at  the  beginning  of  the  fourteenth  century.  The  same  vivid 
sentiment  extends  down  to  the  end  of  the  fifteenth  century  in  the  works  of  Fra  Angelicc 
and  Hans  Memling.  The  Sainte  Chapelle  in  Paris,  the  upper  church  at  Assisi,  Dante'i 


CHAP.  i.  THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY.  f 

saddened  heart,  athirst  for  tenderness  and  serenity,  takes  ref- 
uge in  this  divine  and  gentle  world.  Persecutors  there,  about 
to  strike,  are  arrested  by  an  invisible  hand ;  wild  beasts  become 
docile;  the  stags  of  the  forest  come  of  their  own  accord  every 
morning  to  draw  the  chariots  of  the  saints ;  the  country  blooms 
for  them  like  a  new  Paradise;  they  die  only  when  it  pleases 
them.  Meanwhile  they  comfort  mankind;  goodness,  piety,  for- 
giveness flows  from  their  lips  with  ineffable  sweetness ;  with  eyes 
upturned  to  heaven,  they  see  God,  and  without  effort,  as  in  a 
dream,  they  ascend  into  the  light  and  seat  themselves  at  His 
right  hand.  How  divine  the  legend,  how  inestimable  in  value 
under  the  universal  reign  of  brute  force,  when,  to  endure  this  life, 
it  was  necessary  to  imagine  another,  and  to  render  the  second  as 
visible  to  the  spiritual  eye  as  the  first  was  to  the  physical  eye. 
The  clergy  thus  nourished  men  for  more  than  twelve  centuries, 
and  in  the  grandeur  of  its  recompense  we  can  estimate  the  depth 
of  their  gratitude;  Its  popes,  for  two  hundred  years,  were  the 
dictators  of  Europe.  It  organized  crusades,  dethroned  mon- 
archs,  and  distributed  kingdoms.  Its  bishops  and  abbots  became 
here,  sovereign  princes  and  there,  veritable  founders  of  dynasties. 
It  held  in  its  grasp  a  third  of  the  territory,  one-half  of  the  reve- 
nue and  two-thirds  of  the  capital  of  Europe.  Let  us  not  be- 
lieve that  man  counterfeits  gratitude,  or  that  he  gives  without  a 
valid  motive;  he  is  too  egotistical  and  too  envious  for  that. 
Whatever  may  be  the  institution,  ecclesiastic  or  secular,  whatever 
may  be  the  clergy,  Buddhist  or  Christian,  the  contemporaries 
who  observe  it  for  forty  generations  are  not  bad  judges;  they 
surrender  to  it  their  will  and  their  possessions,  just  in  proportion 
to  its  services,  and  the  excess  of  their  devotion  may  measure  the 
juaiensity  of  its  benefaction. 

II.  If 

Up  to  this  point  no  aid  is  found  against  the  power  of  the 
sword  and  the  battle-axe  except  in  persuasion  and  in  patience. 
Those  States  which,  imitating  the  old  empire,  attempted  to  rise 
up  into  compact  organizations,  and  to  interpose  a  barrier  against 
constant  invasion,  obtained  no  hold  on  the  shifting  soil;  after 

Paradise,  and  the  Fioretti,  furnish  an  idea  of  these  visions.     In  the  way  of  modem  litera- 
ture the  state  of  a  believer's  soul  in  the  middle  ages  is  perfectly  described  in  the  "  Pelerln. 
age  a  Kevlaar,"  by  Heine,  and  in  "  Les  Reliques   -ivantes,"  by  Tourgueneff 
I* 


»  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOKI. 

Charlemagne  everything  melts  away.  There  are  no  more  sol- 
diers after  the  battle  of  Fontanet ;  during  half  a  century  bands 
of  four  or  five  hundred  brigands  sweep  over  the  country,  killing, 
burning,  and  devastating  with  impunity.  But,  by  way  of  compen- 
sation, the  dissolution  of  the  State  raises  up  at  this  very  time  a 
military  generation.  Each  petty  chieftain  has  planted  his  feet 
firmly  on  the  domain  he  occupies,  or  which  he  withholds ;  he  no 
longer  keeps  it  in  trust,  or  for  use,  but  as  property,  and  an  inher- 
itance. It  is  his  own  manor,  his  own  village,  his  own  earldom ; 
it  no  longer  belongs  to  the  king ;  he  contends  for  it  in  his  own 
right.  The  benefactor,  the  conservator  at  this  time  is  the  man 
capable  of  fighting,  of  defending  others,  and  such  really  is  the 
character  of  the  newly  established  class.  The  noble,  in  the  lan- 
guage of  the  day,  is  the  man  of  war,  the  soldier  (miles),  and  it  is 
he  who  lays  the  second  foundation  of  modern  society. 

In  the  tenth  century  his  extraction  is  of  little  consequence. 
He  is  oftentimes  a  Carlovingian  count,  a  beneficiary  of  the  king, 
the  sturdy  proprietor  of  one  of  the  latest  free  territories.  In 
one  place  he  is  a  martial  bishop  or  a  valiant  abbot ;  in  another 
a  converted  pagan,  a  retired  bandit,  a  prosperous  adventurer,  a 
rude  huntsman,  a  long  time  supporting  himself  on  the  chase  and 
on  wild  fruits.1  The  ancestors  of  Robert  the  Strong  are  un- 
known, and  later  the  story  runs  that  the  Capets  are  descended 
from  a  Parisian  butcher.  In  any  event  the  noble  of  that  epoch 
is  the  brave,  the  powerful  man,  expert  in  the  use  of  arms,  who, 
at  the  head  of  a  troop,  instead  of  flying  or  paying  ransom,  offers 
his  breast,  stands  firm,  and  protects  a  patch  of  the  soil  with  his 
sword.  To  perform  this  service  he  has  no  need  of  ancestors; 
all  that  he  requires  is  courage,  for  he  is  himself  an  ancestor; 
security  for  the  present,  which  he  insures,  is  too  acceptable  to 
permit  any  quibbling  about  his  title. 

Finally,  after  so  many  centuries,  we  find  each  canton  pos- 
sessing its  armed  men,  a  settled  body  of  troops  capable  of 
resisting  nomadic  invasion ;  the  community  is  no  longer  a  prey 
to  strangers ;  at  the  end  of  a  century  this  Europe,  which  had 
been  sacked  by  flotillas  of  two-masted  vessels,  is  to  throw  two 
hundred  thousand  armed  men  into  Asia,  and  henceforth,  both 
north  and  south,  in  the  face  of  Mussulmans  and  of  pagans, 

1  As,  for  example,  Tertullian,  founder  of  the  Plantagenet  family,  Rollo,  Duke  of  No» 
mandy,  Hughes,  Abbot  of  St  Martin,  of  Tours,  and  of  St.  Denis 


CHAP.  i.  THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY.  7 

instead  of  being  conquered  it  is  to  conquer.  For  the  second 
time  an  ideal  figure  becomes  apparent  after  that  of  the  saint.1 
the  hero,  and  the  new-born  sentiment,  as  efficacious  as  the  old 
one,  thus  groups  men  together  into  a  stable  society.  This  con- 
sists of  a  resident  corps  of  gendarmes,  in  which,  from  father  to 
son,  one  is  always  a  gendarme.  Each  individual  is  born  into  it 
with  his  hereditary  rank,  his  local  post,  his  pay  in  landed  prop- 
erty, with  the  certainty  of  never  being  abandoned  by  his  chief- 
tain, and  with  the  obligation  of  giving  his  life  for  his  chieftain  in 
tims  of  need.  In  this  epoch  of  perpetual  warfare  only  one 
regimen  is  suitable,  that  of  a  body  of  men  confronting  the 
enemy,  and  such  is  the  feudal  system;  we  can  judge  by  this 
trait  alone  of  the  perils  which  it  wards  off,  and  of  the  service 
which  it  enjoins.  "In  those  days,"  says  the  Spanish  general- 
chronicle,  "kings,  counts,  nobles,  and  knights,  in  order  to  be 
ready  at  all  hours,  kept  their  horses  in  the  rooms  in  which  they 
slept  with  their  wives."  The  viscount  in  his  tower  defending 
the  entrance  to  a  valley  or  the  passage  of  a  ford,  the  marquis 
thrown  as  a  forlorn  hope  on  the  burning  frontier,  sleeps  with  his 
hand  on  his  weapon,  like  an  American  lieutenant  among  the  Siom 
behind  a  western  stockade.  His  dwelling  is  simply  a  camp  and 
a  refuge ;  straw  and  heaps  of  leaves  overspread  the  pavement  of 
the  great  hall ;  here  he  rests  with  his  cavaliers,  taking  off  a  spur 
if  he  has  a  chance  to  sleep ;  the  loopholes  in  the  wall  scarcely 
allow  daylight  to  enter ;  the  main  thing  is  not  to  be  shot  with 
arrows.  Every  taste,  every  sentiment  is  subordinated  to  mill 
tary  service ;  there  are  certain  places  on  the  European  frontier 
where  a  child  of  fourteen  is  required  to  march,  and  where  the 
widow  up  to  sixty  is  required  to  remarry.  Men  to  fill  up  the 
ranks,  men  to  mount  guard,  is  the  call  which  at  this  moment 
proceeds  from  all  institutions  like  the  summons  of  a  brazen 
horn. 

Thanks  to  these  braves,  the  peasant  (villanus)  enjoys  pro- 
tection. He  is  no  longer  to  be  slaughtered,  no  longer  to  be  led 
captive  with  his  family,  in  herds,  with  his  neck  in  a  pitchfork. 
He  ventures  to  plough  and  to  sow,  and  to  rely  upon  his  crops ; 
in  case  of  danger  he  knows  that  he  can  find  an  asylum  for 
himself,  and  for  his  grain  and  cattle,  in  the  circle  of  palisades  at 

I  See  the  "Cantilenes"  of  the  tenth  century  in  which  the  "Chansons  de  Geste"  an 


a  THR  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  I. 

the  base  of  the  fortress.  By  degrees  necessity  establishes  a  tacit 
contract  between  the  military  chieftain  of  the  donjon  and  the 
early  settlers  of  the  open  country,  and  this  becomes  a  recognized 
custom.  They  work  for  him,  cultivate  his  ground,  do  his  cart- 
ing, pay  him  quittances,  so  much  for  house,  so  much  per  head 
for  cattle,  so  much  to  inherit  or  to  sell;  he  is  compelled  to 
support  his  troop.  But  when  these  rights  are  discharged  he  errs 
if,  through  pride  or  greediness,  he  takes  more  than  his  due.  As 
to  the  vagabonds,  the  wretched,  who,  in  the  universal  disorder 
and  devastation,  seek  refuge  under  his  guardianship,  their  con- 
dition is  harder;  the  soil  belongs  to  him,  because  without  him  it 
would  be  uninhabitable ;  if  he  assigns  them  a  plot  of  ground, 
if  he  permits  them  merely  to  encamp  on  it,  if  he  sets  them  to 
work  or  furnishes  them  with  seeds,  it  is  on  conditions  which  he 
prescribes.  They  are  to  become  his  serfs,  his  mortmains ;  wher- 
ever they  may  go  he  is  to  have  the  right  of  fetching  them  back, 
and  from  father  to  son  they  are  his  born  domestics,  assignable  to 
any  pursuit  he  pleases,  taxable  and  workable  at  his  discretion, 
and  not  allowed  to  transmit  anything  to  a  child  unless  the  latter, 
"living  from  their  pot,"  can,  after  their  death,  continue  their 
service.  "Not  to  be  killed,"  says  Stendhal,  "and  to  have  a 
good  sheepskin  coat  in  winter,  was,  for  many  people  in  the 
tenth  century,  the  height  of  felicity";  let  us  add,  for  a  woman, 
that  of  not  being  violated  by  a  whole  band.  When  we  clearly 
represent  to  ourselves  the  condition  of  humanity  in  those  days, 
we  can  comprehend  how  men  readily  accepted  the  most  obnox- 
ious of  feudal  rights,  even  that  of  the  droit  du  seigneur.  The 
risks  to  which  they  were  daily  subject  were  even  worse.1  The 
proof  of  it  is  that  the  people  flocked  to  the  feudal  structure  as 
soon  as  it  was  completed.  In  Normandy,  for  instance,  when 
Rollo  had  divided  off  the  lands  with  a  line,  and  hung  the 
robbers,  the  inhabitants  of  the  neighboring  provinces  rushed  in 
to  establish  themselves.  The  slightest  security  sufficed  to  re- 
populate  a  country. 

People  accordingly  lived,  or  rather  began  to  live,  under  the 
rude,  iron-gloved  hand  which  used  them  roughly,  but  which  af- 
forded them  protection.  The  seignior,  sovereign  and  proprie- 

1  See  In  the  "  Voyages  de  Caillaud,"  in  Nubia  and  Abyssinia,  tte  raids  /or  slaves  madf 
by  the  Pacha's  armies;  Europe  presented  about  the  same  spectacle  Between  the  years  8o» 
and  900. 


CHAP.  I.  THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY.  g 

tor,  maintains  for  himself  under  this  double  title,  the  moors,  the 
river,  the  forest,  all  the  game ;  it  is  no  great  evil,  since  the  coun- 
try is  nearly  a  desert,  and  he  devotes  his  leisure  to  exterminating 
large  wild  beasts.  He  alone  possessing  the  resources,  is  the 
only  one  that  is  able  to  construct  the  mill,  the  oven,  and  the 
wine-press;  to  establish  the  ferry,  the  bridge,  or  the  highway; 
to  dike  in  a  marsh,  and  to  raise  or  purchase  a  bull;  and  to  in 
demnify  himself  he  taxes  for  these  or  forces  their  use.  If  he  is 
intelligent  and  a  good  manager  of  men,  if  he  seeks  to  derive  the 
greatest  profit  from  his  ground,  he  gradually  relaxes,  or  allows 
to  become  relaxed,  the  meshes  of  the  net  in  which  his  villeins 
and  serfs  work  unprofitably  because  they  are  too  tightly  drawn. 
Habit,  necessity,  a  voluntary  or  forced  conformity,  have  their 
effect ;  seigniors,  villeins,  serfs,  and  bourgeois,  in  the  end  adapted 
to  their  condition,  bound  together  by  a  common  interest,  form  to- 
gether a  society,  a  veritable  corporation.  The  seigniory,  the 
county,  the  duchy  becomes  a  patrimony  which  is  loved  through  a 
blind  instinct,  and  to  which  all  are  devoted.  It  is  confounded 
with  the  seignior  and  his  family ;  in  this  relation  people  are  proud 
of  him ;  they  narrate  his  feats  of  arms ;  they  cheer  him  as  his  cav- 
alcade passes  along  the  street;  they  rejoice  in  his  magnificence 
through  sympathy.1  If  he  becomes  a  widower  and  has  no  chil- 
dren, they  send  deputations  to  him  to  entreat  him  to  remarry,  in 
order  that  at  his  death  the  country  may  not  fall  into  a  war  of  suc- 
cession or  be  given  up  to  the  encroachments  of  neighbors.  Thus 
there  is  a  revival,  after  a  thousand  years,  of  the  most  powerful  and 
the  most  vivacious  of  the  sentiments  that  support  human  society. 
This  one  is  the  more  precious  because  it  is  capable  of  expanding : 
for  the  small  feudal  patrimony  to  become  the  great  national  pat- 
rimony, it  now  suffices  for  all  the  seigniories  to  be  combined  in 
the  hands  of  a  single  seignior,  and  that  the  king,  chief  of  the 
nobles,  should  overlay  the  work  of  the  nobles  with  the  third 
foundation  of  France. 

III. 

The  King  built  the  whole  of  this  foundation,  one  stone  after 
another.     Hugues  Capet  laid  the  first  one.     Before  him  royalty 

1  See  the  zeal  of  subjects  for  their  lords  in  the  historians  of  the  middle  ages ;  Gaston  Phoe- 
bus, Comte  de  Foix,  and  Guy,  Comte  de  Flandres  in  Froissart ;  Raymond  de  B6ziers  and 
Raymond  de  Toulouse,  in  the  chronicle  of  Toulouse.  This  profound  sentiment  for  small 
local  patrimonies  is  apparent  at  each  provincial  assembly  in  Normandy,  Brittany,  Francb» 
Comt6,  etc. 


io  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  i. 

conferred  on  the  King  no  right  to  a  province,  not  even  Laon;  he 
is  the  first  who  added  his  domain  to  the  title.  During  eight  hun- 
dred years,  through  conquest,  craft,  inheritance,  the  work  of  ac- 
quisition goes  on;  even  under  Louis  XV.  France  is  augmented  by 
the  acquisition  of  Lorraine  and  Corsica.  Starting  from  nothing, 
the  King  is  the  maker  of  a  compact  State,  containing  a  population 
of  twenty-six  millions,  and  then  the  most  powerful  in  Europe. 
Throughout  this  interval  he  is  at  the  head  of  the  public  defence ; 
the  liberator  of  the  country  against  foreigners,  against  the  Pope 
in  the  fourteenth  century,  against  the  English  in  the  fifteenth, 
against  the  Spaniards  in  the  sixteenth.  In  the  interior,  from  the 
twelfth  century  onward,  with  the  helmet  on  his  brow,  and  always 
on  the  road,  he  is  the  great  justiciary,  demolishing  the  towers  of 
the  feudal  brigands,  repressing  the  excesses  of  the  powerful,  pro- 
tecting the  oppressed ; l  he  puts  an  end  to  private  warfare ;  he 
establishes  order  and  tranquillity ; — an  immense  accomplishment, 
which,  from  Louis  le  Gros  to  St.  Louis,  from  Philippe  le  Bel  to 
Charles  VII.,  and  to  Louis  XL,  from  Henry  IV.  to  Louis  XIII. 
and  Louis  XIV.,  continues  uninterruptedly  up  to  the  middle  of 
the  seventeenth  century  in  the  edict  against  duels  and  in  the 
"  Grands  Jours."  *  Meanwhile  all  useful  projects  carried  out  un- 
der his  orders,  or  developed  under  his  patronage,  roads,  harbors, 
canals,  asylums,  universities,  academies,  institutions  of  piety,  of 
refuge,  of  education,  of  science,  of  industry,  and  of  commerce, 
bear  his  imprint  and  proclaim  the  public  benefactor.  Services  of 
this  character  challenge  a  proportionate  recompense ;  it  is  allowed 
that  from  father  to  son  he  is  wedded  to  France ;  that  she  acts  only 
through  him ;  that  he  acts  only  for  her ;  while  every  souvenir  of 
the  past  and  every  present  interest  combine  to  sanction  this  union. 
The  Church  consecrates  it  at  Rheims  by  a  sort  of  eighth  sacrament, 
accompanied  with  legends  and  miracles;  he  is  the  anointed  of 
God.3  The  nobles,  through  an  old  instinct  of  military  fealty,  con- 
sider themselves  his  body-guard,  and  down  to  August  io  (1789), 
rush  forward  to  die  for  him  on  his  staircase ;  he  is  their  general  by 
birth.  The  people,  down  to  1789,  regard  him  as  the  redresser 
of  abuses,  the  guardian  of  the  right,  the  protector  of  the  weak, 

»  Suger,  Life  of  Louis  VI. 

*  "  Les  Grands  Jours  d'Auvergne,"  by  Fleshier,  ed.  ChSrueL     The  last  feudal  brigand, 
the  Baron  of  Plumartin,  in  Poitou,  was  taken,  tried,  and  executed  under  Louis  XV.  {• 
1756. 

*  As  late  as  Louis  XV.  iprocti-verbal'v,  made  of  the  number  of  cures  of  the  King'*  «rfi 


CHAP.  i.  THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY.  n 

the  great  almoner,  the  universal  refuge.  At  the  beginning  of  tha 
reign  of  Louis  XVI.  "the  shouts  of  Vive  le  rot,  which  began  at 
six  o'clock  in  the  morning,  continued  scarcely  interrupted  until 
after  sunset." *  When  the  Dauphin  was  born  the  joy  of  France 
was  that  of  a  whole  family.  "  People  stopped  each  other  in  the 
streets,  spoke  together  without  any  acquaintance,  and  everybody 
embraced  everybody  he  knew."2  Every  one,  through  vague 
tradition,  through  immemorial  respect,  feels  that  France  is  a  ves- 
sel constructed  by  his  hands  and  the  hands  of  his  ancestors ; 
that,  in  this  sense,  the  structure  is  his  property ;  that  his  right  in 
it  is  that  of  each  passenger  to  his  private  goods ;  and  that  his 
whole  duty  consists  in  being  expert  and  vigilant  in  the  conduct 
of  the  magnificent  ship  over  the  sea  whereon  the  public  welfare 
floats  beneath  his  banner. 

Under  the  ascendency  of  such  an  idea  he  was  allowed  to  do 
everything.  By  fair  means  or  foul,  he  so  reduced  ancient  author- 
ities as  to  make  them  a  mere  ruin,  a  semblance,  a  souvenir.  The 
nobles  are  simply  his  officials  or  his  courtiers.  Since  the  Con- 
cordat he  nominates  the  dignitaries  of  the  Church.  The  States- 
General  were  not  convoked  for  a  hundred  and  seventy-five 
years;  the  provincial  assemblies  which  continue  to  subsist  do 
nothing  but  apportion  the  taxes;  the  parliaments  are  exiled 
when  they  risk  a  remonstrance.  Through  his  council,  his  in- 
tendants,  his  sub-delegates,  he  interposes  in  the  most  trifling  of 
local  matters.  He  enjoys  a  revenue  of  four  hundred  and 
seventy -seven  millions.3  He  disburses  one -half  of  that  of  the 
Clergy.  In  short,  he  is  absolute  master,  and  he  so  declares 
himself.4  Possessions,  freedom  from  taxation,  the  satisfactions 
of  vanity,  a  few  remnants  of  local  jurisdiction  and  authority,  are 
consequently  all  that  is  left  to  his  ancient  rivals ;  in  exchange  for 
these  they  enjoy  his  favors  and  marks  of  preference. 

1  "Me'moires  of  Madame  Campan,"  I.  89;  II.  215. 

»  In  1785  an  Englishman  visiting  France  boasts  of  the  political  liberty  enjoyed  in  hi* 
country.  As  an  offset  to  this  the  French  reproach  the  English  for  having  decapitated 
Charles  I.,  and  "  glory  in  having  always  maintained  an  inviolable  attachment  to  their  own 
king;  a  fidelity,  a  respect  which  no  excess  or  severity  on  his  part  has  ever  shaken."  ("A 
Comparative  View  of  the  French  and  of  the  English  Nation,"  by  John  Andrews,  p.  357). 

*  Memoirs  of  D  Augeard,  private  secretary  of  the  Queen,  and  a  former  farmer-general. 

*  The  following  is  the  reply  of  Louis  XV.  to  the  Parliament  of  Paris,  March  3,  1766,  in  a 
Ut  cU  juttict:  "The  sovereign  authority  is  vested  in  my  person.  .  .  .  The  legislative 
power,  without  dependence  and  without  division,  exists  in  myself  alone.    Public  security 
emanates  wholly  from  myself;  I  am  its  supreme  custodian.    My  people  are  one  only  with 
me ;  national  rights  and  interests,  of  which  an  attempt  is  made  to  form  a  body  separate  from 
those  of  the  monarch,  an  necessarily  combined  with  my  own  and  only  test  in  my  hands." 


12  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  I. 

Such,  in  brief,  Is  the  history  of  the  privileged  classes,  the 
Clergy,  the  Nobles,  and  the  King.  It  must  be  kept  in  mind  to 
comprehend  their  situation  at  the  moment  of  their  fall ;  having 
created  France,  they  enjoy  it.  Let  us  see  near  by  what  becomes 
of  them  at  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century  j  what  portion 
of  their  advantages  they  preserved;  what  services  they  still 
render,  and  what  services  they  do  not  render. 


CHAPTER  Ii 

PRIVILEGES. — I.  Number  of  the  Privileged  Classes. — II.  Their  Posses- 
sions, Capital,  and  Revenue. — III.  Their  Immunities. — IV.  Their  Feudal 
Rights. — These  advantages  the  remains  of  primitive  sovereignty. — V.  They 
may  be  justified  by  local  and  general  services. 

I. 

THE  privileged  classes  number  about  270,000  persons,  com- 
prising of  the  nobility  140,000  and  of  the  clergy  ^OjOoo.1  This 
makes  from  25,000  to  30,000  noble  families;  23,000  monks  in 
2,500  monasteries,  and  37,000  nuns  in  1,500  convents,  and  60,000 
curates  and  vicars  in  as  many  churches  and  chapels.  Should  the 
reader  desire  a  more  distinct  impression  of  them,  he  may  imagine 
on  each  square  league  of  territory,  and  to  each  thousand  of  in- 
habitants, one  noble  family  in  its  weathercock  mansion,  in  each 
village  a  curate  and  his  church,  and,  every  six  or  seven  leagues, 
a  conventual  body  of  men  or  of  women.  We  have  here  the  nn- 
cient  chieftains  and  founders  of  France ;  thus  entitled,  they  still 
enjoy  many  possessions  and  many  rights. 

II. 

Let  us  always  keep  in  mind  what  they  were  in  order  to 
comprehend  what  they  are.  Great  as  their  advantages  may 
be,  these  are  merely  the  remains  of  still  greater  advantages. 
This  or  that  bishop  or  abbot,  this  or  that  count  or  duke, 
whose  successors  make  their  bows  at  Versailles  were  formerly 
the  equals  of  the  Carlovingians  and  the  first  Capets.  A  Sire 
de  Montlh&ry  held  King  Philippe  I.  in  check.2  The  abbey 
of  St.  Germain  des  Pres  possessed  four  hundred  and  thirty  thou- 
sand hectares  of  land  (about  900,000  acres),  almost  the  extent 

1  See  note  i  at  the  end  of  the  volume. 

*  Suger  "Vie  de  Louis  VI.,"  chap.  viii.     Philippt  I.  became  master  of  the  Chateau  de 
Montlheiy  only  by  marrying  one  of  his  sons  to  the  heiress  of  the  fief.    He  thus  addressed  hi* 
successor :  "  My  child,  take  good  care  to  keep  this  tower  of  which  the  annoyances  have  rnatk 
m*  grow  old,  and  whose  frauds  and  treasons  have  given  me  no  peace  nor  rest" 
2 


I4  THE  ANCTENT  REGIME.  BOOK  i, 

of  an  entire  department.  We  need  not  be  surprised  that  they 
remained  powerful,  and,  especially,  rich ;  no  stability  is  greatel 
than  that  of  an  associative  body.  After  eight  hundred  years,  in 
spite  of  so  many  strokes  of  the  royal  axe,  and  the  immense 
change  in  the  culture  of  society,  the  old  feudal  root  lasts  and 
still  vegetates.  We  remark  it  first  in  the  distribution  of  prop- 
erty.1 A  fifth  of  the  soil  belongs  to  the  crown  and  the  com- 
munes, a  fifth  to  the  third  estate,  a  fifth  to  the  rural  popula 
tion,  a  fifth  to  the  nobles  and  a  fifth  to  the  clergy.  Accordingly, 
if  we  deduct  the  public  lands,  the  privileged  classes  own  one- 
half  of  the  kingdom.  This  large  portion,  moreover,  is  at  the 
same  time  the  richest,  for  it  comprises  almost  all  the  large  and 
handsome  buildings,  the  palaces,  castles,  convents,  and  cathe- 
drals, and  almost  all  the  valuable  movable  property,  such  as  fur- 
niture, plate,  objects  of  art,  the  accumulated  masterpieces  of 
centuries.  We  can  judge  of  it  by  an  estimate  of  the  portion  be 
longing  to  the  clergy.  Its  possessions,  capitalized,  amount  to 
nearly  4,000,000,000  francs ; 2  the  income  from  this  amounts  to 
80  and  100  millions,  to  which  must  be  added  the  dime,  or  tithes, 
123  millions  per  annum,  in  all  200  millions,  a  sum  which  must 
be  doubled  to  show  its  equivalent  at  the  present  day,  and  to  this 
must  be  added  the  chance  contributions  and  the  usual  church 
collections.3  To  fully  realize  the  breadth  of  this  golden  stream 

1  L£once  de  Lavergne,  "  Les  Assemblies  Provinciales,"  p.  19.  Consult  the  official  state- 
ment of  the  provincial  assemblies,  and  especially  the  chapters  treating  of  the  vingtieinet 
(an  old  tax  of  one-twentieth  on  incomes. — TR.) 

*  A  report  made  by  Treilhard  in  the  name  of  the  ecclesiastic  committee,  (Moniteur,  igth 
December,  1789)  :  The  religious  establishments  for  sale  in  Paris  alone  were  valued  at  150 
millions.  Later  (in  the  session  of  the  i3th  February,  1791),  Amelot  estimates  the  property 
sold  and  to  be  sold,  not  including  forests,  at  3,700  millions.  M.  de  Bouill6  estimates  the 
revenue  of  the  clergy  at  180  millions.  (M£moires,  p.  44).  [French  currency  is  so  well 
known  to  readers  in  general  it  is  not  deemed  necessary  to  reduce  statements  of  this  kind  to 
the  English  or  American  standard,  except  in  special  cases. — TR.] 

1  A  report  by  Chasset  on  Tithes,  April,  1790.  Out  of  123  millions  23  go  for  the  costs  of 
collection ;  but,  in  estimating  the  revenue  of  an  individual  the  sums  he  pays  to  bis  intend- 
ants,  overseers  and  cashiers  are  not  deducted. 

Talleyrand  (October  10,  1789)  estimates  the  revenue  of  real  property  at  70  millions  and  itf 
value  at  2,100  millions.  On  examination  however  both  capital  and  revenue  are  found  con- 
siderably larger  than  at  first  supposed.  (Reports  of  Treilhard  and  Chasset).  Moreover,  in 
his  valuation,  Talleyrand  left  out  habitations  and  their  enclosures  as  well  as  a  reservation  ot 
one-fourth  of  the  forests.  Besides  this  there  must  be  included  in  the  revenue  before  1789 
the  seigniorial  rights  enjoyed  by  the  Church.  Finally,  according  to  Arthur  Young,  the 
tents  which  the  French  proprietor  received  were  not  two  and  a  half  per  cent  as  nowadays 
but  three  and  a  half. 

This  necessity  of  doubling  the  figures  to  obtain  a  present  money  valuation  is  supported  b) 
innumerable  facts,  and  among  others  the  price  of  a  day's  labor  which  at  that  dme  was  nine- 
teen sous.  (Arthur  Young). 


CHAP.  I.  THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY.  15 

let  us  look  at  some  of  its  affluents.  Three  hundred  and  ninety- 
nine  monks  at  Pre*montre"  estimate  their  revenue  at  more  than 
1,000,000  livres,  and  their  capital  at  45,000,000.  The  Provincial 
of  the  Dominicans  of  Toulouse  admits,  for  his  two  hundred  and 
thirty-six  monks,  "more  than  200,000  livres  net  revenue,  not  in- 
cluding the  convent  and  its  enclosure,  also,  in  the  colonies,  real 
estate,  negroes  and  other  effects,  valued  at  several  millions."  The 
Benedictines  of  Cluny,  numbering  two  hundred  and  thirty-eight, 
enjoy  a  revenue  of  1,800,000  livres.  Those  of  Saint-Maur,  num- 
bering sixteen  hundred  and  seventy-two,  estimate  the  movable 
property  of  their  churches  and  houses  at  24,000,000,  and  their 
net  revenue  at  8,000,000,  "  without  including  that  which  accrues 
to  Messieurs  the  abbots  and  priors  commendatory,"  which 
means  as  much  and  perhaps  more.  Dom  Rocourt,  abbot  of 
Clairvaux,  has  from  300,000  to  400,000  livres  income;  the  Car- 
dinal de  Rohan,  archbishop  of  Strasbourg,  more  than  1,000,000.* 
In  Franche-Comte",  Alsace  and  Roussillon  the  clergy  own  one- 
half  of  the  territory;  in  Hainaut  and  Artois,  three-quarters;  in 
Cambre'sis  fourteen  hundred  plough-areas  out  of  seventeen  hun- 
dred.2 Almost  the  whole  of  Le  Velay  belongs  to  the  Bishop 
of  Puy,  the  abbot  of  La  Chaise-Dieu,  the  noble  chapter  of 
Brionde  and  to  the  seigniors  of  Polignac.  The  canons  of  St. 
Claude,  in  the  Jura,  are  the  proprietors  of  twelve  thousand  serfs 
or  mainmorts.3 

Through  fortunes  of  the  first  class  we  can  imagine  those  of 
the  second.  As  along  with  the  noble  it  comprises  the  ennobled, 
and  as  the  magistrates  for  two  centuries,  and  the  financiers  for 
one  century  had  acquired  or  purchased  nobility,  it  is  clear  that 
here  are  to  be  found  almost  all  the  great  fortunes  of  France,  old 
or  new,  transmitted  by  inheritance,  obtained  through  court  fa- 
vors, or  acquired  in  business ;  when  a  class  reaches  the  summit 
it  is  recruited  out  of  those  who  are  mounting  or  clambering  up. 
Here,  too,  there  is  colossal  wealth.  It  has  been  calculated  that 
the  appanages  of  the  princes  of  the  royal  family,  the  Comtes  of 
Artois  and  of  Provence,  the  Dues  d'Orle'ans  and  de  Penthievre 

1  National  archives,  among  the  papers  of  the  ecclesiastical  committee,  sections  10,  n,  13, 
»S.  Beugnot's  Memoirs,  I.  49,  79 ;  Delbos,  "L'Eglise  de  France,"  I.  399;  Due  de  LeVis, 
"Souvenirs  et  Portraits,"  p.  156. 

8  Leonce  de  Lavergnc,  "Economic  Rurale  en  France,"  p.  24.  Perin,  "La  Jeunesse  de 
Robespierre,"  (Memorial  of  grievances  in  Artois),  p.  317. 

•  Boiteau,  "Etat  de  la  France  en  1789,'  p.  47.  Voltaire,  "Politique  et  legislation,"  tin 
petition  of  the  serfs  of  St.  Claude. 


16  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  L 

then  covered  one- seventh  of  the  territory.1  The  princes  of  the 
blood  have  together  a  revenue  of  from  24,000,000  to  25,000,000; 
the  Due  d'Orleans  alone  has  a  rental  of  n,5oo,ooo.2 

These  are  the  vestiges  of  the  feudal  regime.  Similar  vestiges 
are  found  in  England,  in  Austria,  in  Germany  and  in  Russia. 
Proprietorship,  indeed,  a  long  time  survives  the  circumstances 
on  which  it  is  founded  Sovereignty  had  constituted  property; 
divorced  from  sovereignty  it  has  remained  in  the  hands  formerly 
sovereign.  In  the  bishop,  the  abbot  and  the  count,  the  king 
respected  the  proprietor  while  overthrowing  the  rival,  and,  in 
the  existing  proprietor  a  hundred  traits  still  indicate  the  annihi- 
lated or  modified  sovereign. 

III. 

Such  is  the  total  or  partial  exemption  from  taxation.  The 
tax-collectors  halt  in  their  presence  because  the  king  well  knows 
that  feudal  property  has  the  same  origin  as  his  own ;  if  royalty  is 
one  privilege  seigniory  is  another ;  the  king  himself  is  simply  the 
most  privileged  among  the  privileged.  The  most  absolute,  the 
most  infatuated  with  his  rights,  Louis  XIV.,  entertained  scruples 
when  extreme  necessity  compelled  him  to  enforce  on  everybody 
the  tax  of  the  tenth.3  Treaties,  precedents,  immemorial  custom, 
reminiscences  of  ancient  rights  again  restrain  the  fiscal  hand. 
The  clearer  the  resemblance  of  the  proprietor  to  the  ancient 

1  Necker,  "De  1' Administration  des  Finances,"  II.  272. 

*  De  Boiiill6,  "  M6moires,"  p.  41.  It  must  not  be  forgotten  that  these  figures  must  ba 
doubled  to  show  corresponding  sums  of  the  present  day.  10,000  livres  (francs)  rental  in 
1766  equal  in  value  20,000  in  1825.  (Madame  de  Genlis,  "Memoirs,"  chap.  IX.) 

Arthur  Young,  visiting  a  chateau  in  Seine-et-Marre,  writes :  "  I  have  been  sifting 
Madame  de  Guerchy  on  the  expenses  of  living  .  .  .  and  I  learn  that  to  live  in  a  chateau 
like  this  with  six  men  servants,  five  maids,  eight  horses,  a  garden  and  a  regular  table,  with 
company,  but  never  go  to  Paris,  might  be  done  for  1,000  louis  per  annum.  It  would  in 
England  cost  2,000.  At  the  present  day  in  France  24,000  francs  would  be  50,000  and  more." 
Arthur  Young  adds :  "  There  are  gentlemen  (noblesse)  that  live  in  this  country  on  6,000  or 
8000  livres,  that  keep  two  men,  two  maids,  three  horses  and  a  cabriolet"  To  do  this 
nowadays  would  require  from  20,000  to  25,000  francs. 

Living  in  the  provinces,  especially,  is  dearer  through  the  effect  of  rail-road  communica. 
don.  "According  to  my  friends  du  Rouergue,"  he  says  again,  "I  could  live  at  Milhau 
with  my  family  ii:  the  greatest  abundance  on  100  louis  (2,000  francs) ;  there  are  noble 
families  supporting  themselves  on  revenues  of  fifty  and  even  twenty -five  louis."  At  Mil. 
hau,  to-day,  prices  are  triple  and  even  quadruple.  In  Paris,  a  house  in  the  Rue  St 
HonorS  which  was  rented  for  6,000  francs  in  1787  is  now  rented  for  16,000  francs. 

1  "  Rapports  de  1'Agence  du  clergfi  de  1780  a  1785."  In  relation  to  the  feudal  rights  the 
Abolition  of  which  is  demanded  in  Boncerf's  work,  the  Chancellor  S£guier  said  in  1775: 
"Our  Kings  have  themselves  declared  that  they  are,  fortunately,  impotent  to  make  anj 
attack  on  proper*  y." 


CHAP.  II.  THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY.  17 

independent  sovereign  the  greater  his  immunity.  At  one  time 
he  is  guaranteed  by  a  recent  treaty,  by  his  position  as  a  stranger, 
by  his  almost  royal  extraction.  "In  Alsace  foreign  princes  in 
possession  and  the  Teutonic  order  and  the  order  of  Malta,  enjoy 
exemption  from  all  real  and  personal  contributions."  "  In  Lor- 
raine the  chapter  of  Remiremont  has  the  privilege  of  assessing 
itself  in  all  state  impositions." a  Again,  he  is  protected  by  the 
maintenance  of  the  provincial  Assemblies,  and  through  the  in- 
corporation of  the  nobility  with  the  soil:  in  Languedoc  and  in 
Brittany  the  plebeian  estate  alone  paid  the  faille?  Everywhere 
else  his  quality  preserved  him  from  it,  he,  his  chateau  and  the 
chateau's  dependences ;  the  faille  reaches  him  only  through  his 
formers.  And  better  still,  it  is  sufficient  that  he  himself  should 
work,  or  a  steward,  to  communicate  to  the  land  his  original 
independence ;  so  soon  as  he  touches  the  soil,  either  personally 
or  through  his  agent,  he  screens  of  it  four  ploughing-areas  (quatre 
charrues),  three  hundred  arpents,3  which  in  other  hands,  would 
pay  two  thousand  francs  tax,  and  besides  this,  "the  woods,  the 
meadows,  the  vines,  the  ponds  and  the  enclosed  land  belonging 
to  the  chateau  of  whatever  extent  it  may  be."  Consequently, 
in  Limousin  and  elsewhere,  in  regions  principally  devoted  to 
pasturage  or  to  vineyards,  he  takes  care  to  manage  himself, 
or  to  have  managed,  a  notable  portion  of  his  domain;  in  this 
way  he  exempts  it  from  the  tax-collector.4  There  is  yet  more. 
In  Alsace,  through  an  express  covenant  he  does  not  pay  a  cent 
of  tax.  Thus,  after  the  assaults  of  four  hundred  and  fifty  years, 
taxation,  the  first  of  fiscal  instrumentalities,  the  most  burdensome 
of  all,  leaves  feudal  property  almost  intact.5  For  a  century 
back,  two  new  instrumentalities,  the  capitation-tax  and  the  vingt- 
iemes,  seem  more  efficacious,  and  yet  are  but  little  more  so. 

1  Leonce  de  Lavergne,  "Les  Assemblies  provinciales,"  p.  296.  Report  of  M.  Schweadt 
on  Alsace  in  1787.  Warroquier,  "Etat  de  la  France  en  1789,"  I.  541.  Necker,  "De  1'Ad- 
ministration  des  Finances,"  I.  19,  102.  Turgot,  (collection  of  economists),  "Reponseaux 
observations  du  garde  des  sceaux  sur  la  suppression  des  corvees,"  I.  559. 

1  This  term  embraces  various  taxes  originating  in  feudal  times,  and  rendered  particularly 
burdensome  to  the  peasantry  through  the  management  of  the  privileged  classes. — TR. 

*  The  arpeni  measures  between  one  and  one  and  a  half  acres. 

4De  Tocqueville,  "L'Ancien  Regime  et  la  Revolution,"  p.  406.  "  The  inhabitants  ol 
Montbazen  had  subjected  to  taxation  the  stewards  of  the  duchy  which  belonged  to  the 
Prince  de  Rohan.  This  prince  caused  this  abuse  tc  be  stopped  and  succeeded  in  recovering 
the  sum  of  5,344  livres  which  he  had  been  made  to  pay  unlawfully  under  this  right." 

5  Necker,  "Administration  des  Finances:"  ordinary  taxation  produced  91,0005000;  lef 
vingtiemes,  76,500,000;  the  capitation-tax,  41,500,000. 


18  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  i, 

At  first,  throug.i  a  master-stroke  of  ecclesiastical  diplomacy,  the 
clergy  diverts  or  weakens  the  blow.  Forming  a  body,  and 
holding  assemblies,  it  is  able  to  negotiate  with  the  king,  to  buy 
itself  off,  to  avoid  being  taxed  by  others,  to  tax  itself,  to  have  it 
understood  that  its  payments  aie  not  compulsory  contributions, 
but  a  "  free  gift,"  to  obtain  in  exchange  a  mass  of  concessions,  to 
diminish  this  gift,  sometimes  not  to  make  it,  in  any  event  to 
reduce  it  to  sixteen  millions  every  five  years,  that  is  to  say  to  a 
little  more  than  three  millions  per  annum;  in  1788  it  is  only 
1,800,000  livres,  and  in  1789  it  is  refused  altogether.1  And  still 
better :  as  it  borrows  to  provide  for  this  tax,  and  as  the  declines 
which  it  raises  on  its  property  do  not  suffice  to  reduce  the  capital 
and  meet  the  interest  on  its  debt,  it  has  the  adroitness  to  secure, 
besides,  a  grant  from  the  king  out  of  the  royal  treasury,  each 
year,  of  2,500,000  livres,  so  that,  instead  of  paying,  it  receives; 
in  1787  it  receives  in  this  way  1,500,000  livres.  In  relation  to 
the  nobles,  they,  unable  to  combine  together,  to  have  represent- 
atives, to  act  in  a  public  way,  operate  in  a  private  way,  con- 
fronting ministers,  intendants,  sub-delegates,  farmer-generals,  and 
all  others  clothed  with  authority,  their  quality  securing  attentions, 
consideration  and  favors.  In  the  first  place,  this  quality  ex- 
empts them,  they,  their  dependants,  and  the  dependants  of 
their  dependants,  from  drafting  in  the  militia,  from  lodging 
soldiers,  from  (la  corvee)  laboring  on  the  highways.  Next, 
the  capitation  being  fixed  according  to  the  tax  system,  they 
pay  little  because  their  taxation  is  of  little  account.  More- 
over, each  one  brings  all  his  credit  to  bear  against  assess- 
ments ;  "  your  sympathetic  heart,"  writes  one  of  them  to  the 
intendant,  "will  never  allow  a  father  of  my  condition  to  be 
taxed  for  the  vingtiemes  rigidly  like  a  father  of  low  birth."  On 
the  other  hand,  as  the  tax-payer  pays  the  capitation -tax  instead 
of  his  entire  household,  often  far  away  from  his  estates,  and  no 
one  having  any  knowledge  of  his  personal  income,  he  may  pay 
whatever  seems  to  him  proper.  There  are  no  proceedings 
against  him,  if  he  is  a  ncble;  the  greatest  circumspection  is 

'  Raudot,  "La  France  avant  la  Revolution,"  p.  51.  De  Bouill6,  "M£moires,"  p.  44. 
Kecker>  "De  1'Administration  des  Finances,"  v.  II.  p.  181.  The  above  relates  to  what  wai 
called  the  clergy  of  France,  (116  dioceses).  The  clergy  called  foreign,  consisted  of  that  of 
the  three  bishoprics  and  of  the  countries  acquired  after  Louis  XIV.;  it  had  a  separate 
regime  and  paid  somewhat  like  the  nobles.  The  lUcintes  which  the  clergy  of  France  levied 
BO  its  property  amounted  to  a  sum  of  10,500,000  livres. 


CHAP.  II.  THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY.  19 

used  towards  persons  of  high  rank;  "in  the  provinces,"  says 
Turgot,  "  the  capitation-tax  of  the  privileged  classes  has  been 
successively  reduced  to  an  exceedingly  small  matter,  whilst  the 
capitation-tax  of  those  who  are  liable  to  the  tailk,  is  almost  equal 
to  the  principal  of  that  tax."  And  finally,  "the  collectors  think 
that  they  are  obliged  to  act  towards  them  with  marked  con- 
sideration" even  when  they  owe;  "the  result  of  which,"  says 
Necker,  "is  that  very  ancient,  and  much  too  large  amounts, 
of  their  capitation-tax  remain  unpaid."  Accordingly,  not  having 
been  able  to  repel  the  assault  of  the  fisc  in  front  they  evaded  it 
or  diminished  it  until  it  became  almost  unobjectionable.  In 
Champagne,  "on  nearly  1,500,000  livres  provided  by  the  capita- 
tion-tax, they  paid  in  only  14,000  livres,"  that  is  to  say,  "  2  sous 
and  2  deniers  for  the  same  purpose  which  costs  12  sous  per 
livre  to  those  chargeable  with  the  taille."  According  to  Calonne, 
"  if  concessions  and  privileges  had  been  suppressed  the  vingtitmes 
would  have  furnished  double  the  amount."  In  this  respect  the 
most  opulent  were  the  most  skilful  in  protecting  themselves. 
"With  the  intendants,"  said  the  Due  d'Orleans,  "I  settle  matters, 
and  pay  about  what  I  please,"  and  he  calculated  that  the  pro- 
vincial administration,  rigorously  taxing  him,  would  cause  him 
to  lose  300,000  livres  rental.  It  has  been  proved  that  the 
princes  of  the  blood,  paid,  for  their  two-twentieths,  188,000 
instead  of  2,400,000  livres.  In  the  main,  in  this  regime,  excep- 
tion from  taxation  is  the  last  remnant  of  sovereignty  or,  at  least, 
of  independence.  The  privileged  person  avoids  or  repels  taxa- 
tion, not  merely  because  it  despoils  him,  but  because  it  belittles 
him ;  it  is  a  mark  of  plebeian  condition,  that  is  to  say,  of  former 
servitude,  and  he  resists  the  fisc  as  much  through  pride  as 
through  interest. 

IV. 

Let  us  follow  him  home  to  his  own  domain.  A  bishop,  an 
»bbe",  a  chapter  of  the  clergy,  an  abbess,  each  has  one  like  a  lay 
seignior;  for,  in  former  times,  the  monastery  and  the  church 
were  small  governments  like  the  county  and  the  duchy. 

Intact  on  the  other  bank  of  the  Rhine,  almost  ruined  in 
France,  the  feudal  structure  everywhere  discloses  the  same  plan. 
In  certain  places,  better  protected  or  less  attacked,  it  has  pre- 
served all  its  ancient  externals.  At  Cahors,  the  bishop-count  of 


20  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  i 

the  town  had  the  right,  on  solemnly  officiating,  "to  place  his 
casque,  cuirass,  gauntlets  and  sword  on  the  altar."  l  At  Besan- 
c.on,  the  archbishop-prince  has  six  high  officers,  who  owe  him 
homage  for  their  fiefs,  and  who  attend  at  his  coronation  and  at 
his  obsequies.  At  Mende,2  the  bishop,  seignior-suzerain  for 
Gdvaudan  since  the  eleventh  century,  appoints  "  the  courts,  ordi- 
nary judges  and  judges  of  appeal,  the  commissaries  and  syndics 
of  the  country,"  disposes  of  all  the  places,  "municipal  and 
judiciary,"  and,  entreated  to  appear  in  the  assembly  of  the  three 
orders  of  the  province,  "replies  that  his  place,  his  possessions 
and  his  rank  exalting  him  above  every  individual  in  his  diocese, 
he  cannot  sit  under  the  presidency  of  any  person ;  that,  being 
seignior-suzerain  of  all  estates  and  particularly  of  the  baronies, 
he  cannot  give  way  to  his  vassals,"  in  brief  that  he  is  king,  or 
but  little  short  of  it,  in  his  own  province.  At  Remiremont,  the 
noble  chapter  of  canonesses  has,  "  inferior,  superior,  and  ordinary 
judicature  in  fifty-two  bans  of  seigniories,"  the  gift  of  seventy- 
five  curacies  and  of  ten  male  canonships,  appointing  the  munici- 
pal officers  of  the  town  and,  besides  this,  three  lower  and  highe: 
courts  and  everywhere  the  officials  in  the  jurisdiction  over  woods 
and  forests.  Thirty-two  bishops,  without  counting  the  chap- 
ters, are  thus  temporal  seigniors,  in  whole  or  in  part,  of  their 
episcopal  town,  sometimes  of  the  surrounding  district,  and  some- 
times, like  the  bishop  of  St.  Claude,  of  the  entire  country.  Here 
the  feudal  tower  has  been  preserved.  Elsewhere  it  is  plastered 
over  anew,  and  more  particularly  in  the  appanages.  In  these 
domains,  comprising  more  than  twelve  of  our  departments,  the 
princes  of  the  blood  appoint  to  all  offices  in  the  judiciary  and  to 
all  clerical  livings.  Being  substitutes  of  the  king  they  enjoy  his 
serviceable  and  honorary  rights.  They  are  almost  delegated 
kings,  amd  for  life;  for  they  not  only  receive  all  that  the  king 
would  receive  as  seignior,  but  again  a  portion  of  that  which  he 
would  receive  as  monarch.  For  example,  the  house  of  Orleans 
collects  the  excises,3  that  is  to  say  the  duty  on  liquors,  on  works 
in  gold  or  silver,  on  manufactures  of  iron,  on  steel,  on  cards, 

1  See  "La  France  ecclesiastique,  1788,"  for  these  details.1 

•Official  statements  and  manuscript  reports  of  the  States-General  of  1789.  "Archives 
Rationales,"  vol.  LXXXVIII.  pp.  23,  85,  iai,  122,  152.  Proems-verbal  of  January  12,  1789. 

•  Necker,  "De  1*  Administration  des  Finances,"  v.  II.  pp.  171,  272.  "The  house  of 
Orleans,  he  says,  is  in  possession  of  the  excises.  He  values  thit  tax  at  51,000,000  for  the 
entire  kingdom. 


CHAP.  H.  THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY.  ^\ 

on  paper  and  starch,  in  short,  on  the  entire  sum-total  of  one  of 
the  most  onerous  indirect  imposts.  It  is  not  surprising,  if,  ap- 
proximating to  the  sovereign  condition,  they  have,  like  sover 
eigns  themselves,  a  council,  a  chancellor,  an  organized  debt,  a 
court,1  a  domestic  ceremonial  system,  and  that  the  feudal  edifice 
in  their  hands  should  put  on  the  luxurious  and  formal  trappings 
which  it  had  assumed  in  the  hands  of  the  king. 

Let  us  turn  to  its  inferior  personages,  to  a  seignior  of  medium 
rank,  on  his  square  league  of  ground,  amidst  the  thousand  in- 
habitants which  were  formerly  his  villeins  or  his  serfs,  within 
reach  of  the  monastery,  or  chapter,  or  bishop  whose  rights  inter- 
mingle with  his  rights.  Whatever  may  have  been  done  to  abase 
him  his  position  is  still  very  high.  He  is  yet,  as  the  intendants 
say,  "the  first  inhabitant;"  a  prince  whom  they  have  about 
despoiled  of  his  public  functions  and  consigned  to  his  honorary 
and  available  rights,  but  who  nevertheless  remains  a  prince.2  He 
has  his  bench  in  the  church,  and  his  right  of  sepulture  in  the 
choir ;  the  tapestry  bears  his  coat  of  arms ;  they  bestow  on  him 
incense,  "holy  water  by  distinction."  Often,  having  founded 
the  church,  he  is  its  patron,  choosing  the  curate  and  pretending 
to  control  him ;  in  the  rural  districts  we  see  him  advancing  or 
retarding  the  hour  of  the  parochial  mass  according  to  his  fancy. 
If  he  bears  a  title  he  is  supreme  judge,  and  there  are  entire 
provinces,  Maine  and  Anjou,  for  example,  where  there  is  no  fief 
without  the  judge.  In  this  case  he  appoints  the  bailiff,  the 
registrar,  and  other  legal  and  judicial  officers,  attorneys,  notaries, 
seigniorial  sergeants,  constabulary  on  foot  or  mounted,  who  draw 
up  documents  or  decide  in  his  name  in  civil  and  criminal  cases 
on  the  first  trial.  He  appoints,  moreover,  a  forest-warden,  or 
decides  forest  offences,  and  enforces  the  penalties  which  this 
officer  inflicts.  He  has  his  prison  for  delinquents  of  various 
kinds,  and  sometimes  his  forked  gibbets.  On  the  other  hand,  as 

1  Beugnot,  "  M6moires,"  v.  I.  p.  77.  Observe  the  ceremonial  system  with  the  Due  dt 
Pcnthlevre,  chapters  I.,  III.  The  Due  d'Orl£ans  organizes  a  chapter  and  bands  of  canon- 
esses.  The  post  of  chancellor  to  the  Due  d'Orleans  is  worth  100,000  livres  per  annum, 
(;'Gustave  ill.  et  la  cour  de  France,"  by  Geffrey,  I.  410.) 

*  De  Tocqueville,  ibid.  p.  40.  Renauldon,  advocate  in  the  bailiwick  of  Issoudun,  "  Traitfc 
aistorique  et  pratique  des  droits  seigneuriaux,  1765,"  pp.  8,  10,  81  and  passim.  Memorial 
of  a  magistrate  of  the  Chatelet  on  seigniorial  judgments,  1789.  DuvergJer,  "Collection 
des  Lois,"  Decrees  of  the  15-28  March,  1790,  on  the  abolition  of  the  feudal  regime,  Merlin  of 
Douai,  reporter,  I.  114.  Decrees  of  19-23  July,  1790,  *.  293.  Decrees  of  the  13-^0  Aprl, 
1791,  I.  295. 


22  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  \ 

compensation  fur  his  judicial  cc^ts,  he  obtains  the  property  of 
the  man  condemned  to  death  and  the  confiscation  of  his  estate; 
he  succeeds  to  the  bastard  born  and  dying  in  his  seigniory  with- 
out leaving  a  testament  or  legitimate  children ;  he  inherits  from 
the  native,  a  legitimate  child,  dying  intestate  in  his  house  with- 
out apparent  heirs;  he  appropriates  to  himself  movable  objects, 
animate  or  inanimate,  which  are  found  astray  and  of  which  the 
owner  is  unknown ;  he  claims  one-half  or  one-third  of  treasure- 
trove,  and,  on  the  coast,  he  takes  for  himself  the  waif  of  wrecks ; 
and  finally,  what  is  more  fruitful,  in  these  times  of  misery,  he  be- 
comes the  possessor  of  abandoned  lands  that  have  remained  un- 
tilled  for  ten  years.  Other  advantages  demonstrate  still  more 
clearly  that  he  formerly  possessed  the  government  of  the  canton. 
Such  are,  in  Auvergne,  in  Flanders,  in  Hainaut,  in  Artois,  in 
Picardy,  Alsace,  and  Lorraine,  the  dues  for  poursoin.  ou  dt 
sauvement  (care  or  safety  within  the  walls  of  a  town),  paid  to 
him  for  his  general  protection ;  those  of  guet  et  de  garde  (watch 
and  guard),  claimed  by  him  for  military  protection ;  of  afforage, 
exacted  of  those  who  sell  beer,  wine  and  other  beverages,  whole- 
sale or  retail;  of  fouage,  dues  on  fires,  in  money  or  grain,  which, 
according  to  many  common-law  systems,  he  levies  on  each  fire- 
side, house  or  family ;  of  pulveragey  quite  common  in  Dauphiny 
and  Provence,  on  passing  flocks  of  sheep;  the  lods  et  ventes 
(lord's  due),  an  almost  universal  tax,  consisting  of  the  deduction 
of  a  sixth,  often  of  a  fifth  or  even  a  fourth,  of  the  price  of  every 
piece  of  ground  sold,  and  of  every  lease  exceeding  nine  years ; 
the  dues  for  redemption  or  relief,  equivalent  to  one  year's  in- 
come and  which  he  receives  from  collateral  heirs,  and  often  from 
direct  heirs ;  and  finally,  a  rarer  due,  but  the  most  burdensome 
of  all,  that  of  acapte  ou  de  plait-a-merri,  which  is  a  double  rent, 
or  a  year's  yield  of  fruits,  payable  as  well  on  the  death  of  the 
seignior  as  on  that  of  the  copyholder.  These  are  veritable  taxes, 
landed,  on  movables,  personal,  for  licenses,  for  traffic,  for  muta- 
tions, for  successions,  established  formerly  on  the  condition  of  per- 
forming a  public  service  which  he  is  no  longer  obliged  to  perform. 
Other  dues  are  also  ancient  imposts,  but  he  still  performs  the 
service  for  which  they  are  a  quittance.  The  king,  in  fact,  sup- 
presses many  of  the  tolls,  twelve  hundred  in  1724,  and  the  sup- 
pression is  kept  up ;  but  a  good  many  remain  to  the  profit  of  the 
seignior, — on  bridges,  on  highways,  on  fords,  on  boats  ascending 


OU*.  n.  THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY.  23 

or  descending,  he  being  at  the  expense  of  keeping  up  bridge, 
road,  ford  and  tow-path,  several  being  very  lucrative,  certain 
tolls  producing  90,000  livres.1  In  like  manner,  on  condition 
of  maintaining  the  market-place  and  of  providing  scales  and 
weights  gratis,  he  levies  a  tax  on  provisions  and  on  merchandise 
brought  to  his  fair  or  to  his  market; — at  Angoul£me  a  forty- 
eighth  of  the  grain  sold,  at  Combourg  near  Saint-Malo,  so  much 
per  head  of  cattle,  elsewhere  so  much  on  wine,  eatables  and 
fish.*  Having  formerly  built  the  oven,  the  wine-press,  the  mill 
and  the  slaughter-house,  he  obliges  the  inhabitants  to  use  these 
or  pay  for  their  support,  and  he  demolishes  all  constructions 
which  might  enter  into  competition  with  him.3  These,  again, 
are  evidently  monopolies  and  octrois  going  back  to  the  time 
when  he  was  in  possession  of  public  authority. 

Not  only  did  he  then  possess  the  public  authonty  but  he 
possessed  the  soil  and  the  men  on  it.  Proprietor  of  men,  he  is 
so  still,  at  least  in  many  respects  and  in  many  provinces.  "  In 
Champagne  proper,  in  the  Senonais,  in  la  Marche,  in  the  Bour- 
bonnais,  in  the  Nivernais,  in  Burgundy,  in  Franche-Comte,  there 
are  none,  or  very  few  domains,  no  signs  remaining  of  ancient 
servitude.  ...  A  good  many  personal  serfs,  or  so  constituted 
through  their  own  gratitude,  or  that  of  their  progenitors,  are 
still  found." 4  There,  man  is  a  serf,  sometimes  by  virtue  of  his 

1  National  archives,  G,  300,  (1787).  "  M.  de  Boullongne,  seignior  of  Montereau,  possesses 
a  toll-right  consisting  of  2  deniers  (farthings)  per  ox,  cow,  calf  or  pig;  i  per  sheep ;  2  for  a 
loaded  animal ;  i  sou  and  8  deniers  for  each  four-wheeled  vehicle ;  5  deniers  for  a  two- 
wheeled  vehicle,  and  10  deniers  for  a  vehicle  drawn  by  three,  four,  or  five  horses ;  besides  a 
tax  of  10  deniers  for  each  barge,  boat  or  skiff  ascending  the  river;  the  same  tax  for  each 
team  of  horses  dragging  the  boats  up ;  i  denier  for  each  empty  cask  going  up."  Analogous 
taxes  are  enforced  at  Varennes  for  the  benefit  of  the  Due  de  Chatelet,  seignior  of  Varennes. 

*  National  archives,  K,  1453,  No.  1448:  A  letter  by  M.  de  Meulan,  dated  June  12,  1789. 
This  tax  on  grain  belonged  at  that  time  to  the  Comte  d'Artois.     Chateaubriand,  "M^moires," 

1-73. 

*  Renauldon,  ibid  249,  258.     "There  are  few  seignioral  towns  which  do  not  have  the  lord'* 
slaughter-houses.     The  butcher  must  obtain  special  permission  from  the  seignior."    Th« 
tax  on  grinding  was  an  average  of  a  sixteenth.  In  many  provinces,  Anjou,  Berry,  Maine. 
Brittany,  there  was  a  lord's  mill  for  cloths  and  barks. 

1  Renauldon,  ibid.  pp.  181,  200,  203;  obsfe  that  he  wrote  this  in  1765.  Louis  XVI. 
suppressed  villeinage  on  the  royal  domains  in  1778 ;  and  many  of  the  seigniors,  especially 
to  Franche-Comt6,  followed  his  example. 

Beugnot,  "  Memoires,"  v.  I.  p.  142.  Voltaire,  "Me'moire  au  roi  sur  les  serfs  du  Jura." 
"M6rr.oires  de  Bailly,"  II.  214,  according  to  an  official  report  of  the  Nat.  Ass.,  August 
j,  1789.  I  rely  on  this  report  and  on  the  book  of  M.  Clerget,  curate  of  Onans  in  Franche- 
ComtS,  who  is  mentioned  in  it  M.  Clerget  says  that  there  are  still  at  this  time  (178^ 
1,500,000  subjects  of  the  king  in  a  state  of  servitude  but  he  brings  forward  no  proofs  to  sup. 
pert  these  figures.  Nevertheless  it  is  certain  that  the  number  of  serfs  and  mr rtraains  is  still 


24  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  I 

birth  and  again  through  a  territorial  condition.  Whether  in 
servitude,  or  as  mortmains,  or  as  cotters,  one  way  or  another, 
fifteen  hundred  thousand  individuals,  it  is  said,  wore  about  their 
necks  a  remnant  of  the  feudal  collar ;  this  is  not  surprising  since, 
on  the  other  side  of  the  Rhine,  almost  all  the  peasantry  still  weai 
it.  The  seignior,  formerly  master  and  proprietor  of  all  their 
goods  and  chattels  and  of  all  their  labor,  can  still  exact  of  them 
from  ten  to  twelve  corvees  per  annum  and  a  fixed  annual  tax. 
In  the  barony  of  Choiseul  near  Chaumont  in  Champagne,  "the 
inhabitants  are  required  to  plough  his  lands,  to  sow  and  reap 
them  for  his  account  and  to  put  the  products  into  his  barns; 
each  plot  of  ground,  each  house,  every  head  of  cattle  pays  a 
quit-claim ;  children  may  inherit  from  their  parents  only  on  con- 
dition of  remaining  with  them ;  if  absent  at  the  time  of  their 
decease  he  is  the  inheritor."  This  is  what  was  styled  in  the 
language  of  the  day  an  estate  "with  excellent  dues."  Elsewhere 
the  seignior  inherits  from  collaterals,  brothers  or  nephews,  if 
they  were  not  in  community  with  the  defunct  at  the  moment 
of  his  death,  which  community  is  only  valid  through  his  consent. 
In  the  Jura  and  the  Nivernais,  he  may  pursue  fugitive  serfs,  and 
demand  at  their  death,  not  only  the  property  left  by  them  on 
his  domain,  but,  again,  the  pittance  acquired  by  them  elsewhere. 
At  Saint-Claude,  he  acquires  this  right  over  any  person  that 
passes  a  year  and  a  day  in  a  house  belonging  to  the  seigniory. 
As  to  ownership  of  the  soil  we  see  still  more  clearly  that  he  once 
had  entire  possession  of  it.  In  the  district  subject  to  his  juris- 
diction the  public  domain  remains  his  private  domain;  roads, 
streets  and  open  squares  form  a  part  of  it;  he  has  the  right 
to  plant  trees  in  them  and  to  take  trees  up.  In  many  provinces, 
through  a  pasturage  rent,  he  obliges  the  inhabitants  to  pay  for 
permits  to  pasture  their  cattle  in  the  fields  after  the  crop,  and  in 
the  open  common  lands,  ( les  terres  vaines  etvagues).  Unnavigable 
streams  belong  to  him,  as  well  as  islets  and  accumulations 
formed  in  them  and  the  fish  that  are  found  in  them.  He  has  the 
right  of  the  chase  over  the  whole  extent  of  his  jurisdiction,  this 

very  great  National  archives,  H,  723,  memorials  on  mortmains  in  Franche-Comtfi  in  1788; 
H,  200,  memorials  by  Amelot  on  Burgundy  in  1 785.  "In  the  sub-delegation  of  Charolles  the 
inhabitants  seem  a  century  behind  the  age ;  being  subject  to  feudal  tenures,  such  as  mort- 
main, neither  mind  nor  body  have  any  play.  The  redemption  of  mortmain,  of  which  th« 
Icing  himself  has  set  the  example,  has  been  put  at  such  an  exorbitant  price  by  laymen,  th« 
unfortunate  sufferers  cannot,  and  will  not  be  able  to  secure  it." 


CHAP.  II.  THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY.  25 

or  that  plebeian  being  sometimes  compelled  to  throw  open  to 
him  his  park  enclosed  by  walls. 

One  more  trait  serves  to  complete  the  picture.  This  head  of 
the  State,  a  proprietor  of  man  and  of  the  soil,  was  once  a  resi- 
dent cultivator  on  his  own  small  farm  amidst  others  of  the  same 
class  and,  by  this  title,  he  reserved  to  himself  certain  working 
privileges  which  he  always  retained.  Such  is  the  right  of  banvin, 
still  widely  diffused,  consisting  of  the  privilege  of  selling  his  own 
wine,  to  the  exclusion  of  all  others,  during  thirty  or  forty  days 
after  gathering  the  crop.  Such  is,  in  Touraine,  the  right  of 
preage,  which  is  the  right  to  send  his  horses,  cows  and  oxen  "  to 
browse  under  guard  in  his  subjects'  meadows."  Such  is,  finally, 
the  monopoly  of  the  great  dove-cot,  from  which  thousands  of 
pigeons  issue  to  feed  at  all  times  and  seasons  and  on  all  grounds, 
without  any  one  daring  to  kill  or  take  them.  Through  another 
effect  of  the  same  qualification  he  imposes  quit-claims  on  property 
on  which  he  has  formerly  given  perpetual  leases,  and,  under  the 
terms,  cens,  censives  (quit-rents),  carpot  (share  in  wine),  champart 
(share  in  grain),  agrier  (a  cash  commission  on  general  product), 
terrage parciere  (share  of  fruits),  all  these  collections,  in  money  or 
in  kind,  are  as  various  as  the  local  situations,  accidents  and 
transactions  could  possibly  be.  In  the  Bourbonnais  he  has  one- 
quarter  of  the  crop ;  in  Berry  twelve  sheaves  out  of  a  hundred. 
Occasionally  his  debtor  or  tenant  is  a  community :  one  deputy 
in  the  National  Assembly  owned  a  fief  of  two  hundred  casks  of 
wine  on  three  thousand  pieces  of  private  property.1  Besides, 
through  the  retrait  censttel  (a  species  of  right  of  redemption),  he 
can  "  retain  for  his  own  account  all  property  sold  on  the  condi- 
tion of  remunerating  the  purchaser,  but  previously  deducting  for 
his  benefit  the  lord's  dues  (lods  et  ventes)."  The  reader,  finally, 
must  take  note  that  all  these  zestrictions  on  property  constitute, 
for  the  seignior,  a  privileged  credit  as  well  on  the  product  as  on 
the  price  of  the  ground,  and,  for  the  copyholders,  an  impre- 
scriptible, indivisible  and  irredeemable  debt. 

Such  are  the  feudal  rights.  To  form  an  idea  of  them  in  their 
totality  ws  must  always  imagine  the  count,  bishop  or  abbot  of 
the  tenth  century  as  sovereign  and  proprietor  in  his  own  canton. 
The  form  which  human  society  then  takes  grows  out  of  the 

1  Boiteau,  ibid,  p  25,  (April,  1790).     Beugnot,  "M£moires,"  I,  142 


26  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  I 

exigencies  of  near  and  constant  danger  with  a  view  to  loca 
defence,  by  subordinating  all  interests  to  the  necessities  of 
living,  iii  such  a  way  as  to  protect  the  soil  by  fixing  on  the 
soil,  through  property  and  its  enjoyment,  a  troop  of  brave 
men  under  the  leadership  of  a  brave  chieftain.  The  danger 
having  passed  away  the  structure  became  dilapidated.  For 
a  pecuniary  compensation  the  seigniors  allowed  the  economical 
and  tenacious  peasant  to  pick  off  it  a  good  many  stones. 
Through  constraint  they  suffered  the  king  to  appropriate  to  him- 
self the  public  portion.  The  primitive  foundation  remains,  prop- 
erty as  organized  in  ancient  times,  the  fettered  or  exhausted  land 
supporting  a  social  conformation  that  has  melted  away,  in  short, 
an  order  of  privileges  and  of  thraldom  of  which  the  cause  and 
the  purpose  have  disappeared.1 

V. 

All  this  does  not  suffice  to  render  this  order  detrimental  or 
even  useless.  In  reality,  the  local  chief  who  no  longer  performs 
his  ancient  service  may  perform  a  new  one  in  exchange  for  it. 
Instituted  for  war  when  life  was  militant,  he  may  serve  in  quiet 
times  when  the  regime  is  pacific,  while  the  advantage  to  the 
nation  is  great  in  which  this  transformation  is  accomplished ;  for, 
retaining  its  chiefs,  it  is  relieved  of  the  uncertain  and  perilous 
operation  which  consists  in  creating  others.  There  is  nothing 
more  difficult  to  establish  than  a  government,  that  is  to  say, 
a  stable  government :  this  involves  the  command  of  some  and 
the  obedience  of  all,  which  is  against  nature.  That  a  man  in 
his  cabinet,  often  a  feeble  old  person,  should  dispose  of  the  lives 
and  property  of  twenty  or  thirty  thousand  men,  most  of  whom 
he  has  never  seen ;  that  he  should  order  them  to  pay  away  the 
tenth  or  a  fifth  of  their  income  and  they  should  do  it ;  that 
ne  should  order  them  to  go  and  slaughter  or  be  slaughtered  and 
that  they  should  go;  that  they  should  thus  continue  for  ten 
years,  twenty  years,  through  every  kind  of  trial,  defeat,  misery 
and  invasion,  as  with  the  French  under  Louis  XIV.,  the  English 
under  Pitt,  the  Prussians  under  Frederick  II.,  without  either 
sedition  or  internal  disturbances,  is  certainly  a  marvellous  thing, 
and,  for  a  people  to  remain  free  it  is  essential  that  they  should 

1  S««  note  2  at  the  end  of  the  volume. 


CHAP.  ii.  THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY.  2) 

be  ready  to  do  this  daily.  Neither  this  fidelity  nor  this  concord 
are  due  to  sober  reflection  (la  raison  raisonnante )  ;  reason  is  too 
vacillating  and  too  feeble  to  bring  about  such  a  universal  and  ener- 
getic result.  Abandoned  to  itself  and  suddenly  restored  to  a  nat- 
ural condition,  the  human  flock  is  capable  only  of  agitation,  of  mut- 
ual strife  until  pure  force  at  length  predominates,  as  in  barbarous 
times,  and  until,  amidst  the  dust  and  outcry,  some  military  leader 
rises  up  who  is,  generally,  a  butcher.  Historically  considered  it  is 
better  to  continue  on  than  to  begin  over  again.  Hence,  especially 
when  the  majority  is  uncultivated,  it  is  beneficial  to  have  chiefs 
designated  beforehand  through  the  hereditary  custom  by  which 
people  follow  them,  and  through  the  special  education  by  which 
they  are  qualified.  In  this  case  the  public  has  no  need  to  seek 
for  them  to  obtain  them.  They  are  already  on  hand,  in  each 
canton,  visible,  accepted  beforehand;  they  are  known  by  their 
names,  their  title,  their  fortune,  their  way  of  living ;  deference  to 
their  authority  is  established.  They  are  almost  always  deserving 
of  this  authority ;  born  and  brought  up  to  exercise  it  they  find  in 
tradition,  in  family  example  and  in  family  pride,  powerful  ties 
that  nourish  public  spirit  in  them ;  there  is  some  probability  of 
their  comprehending  the  duties  with  which  their  prerogative 
endows  them. 

Such  is  the  renovation  which  the  feudal  regime  comports. 
The  ancient  chieftain  can  still  guarantee  his  pre-eminence  by 
his  services,  and  remain  popular  without  ceasing  to  be  privileged. 
Once  a  captaii  in  his  district  and  a  permanent  gendarme  he  is 
to  become  the  resident  and  beneficent  proprietor,  the  voluntary 
promoter  of  useful  undertakings,  the  obligatory  tutor  of  the 
poor,  the  gratuitous  administrator  and  judge  of  the  canton,  the 
unsalaried  deputy  to  the  king,  that  is  to  say,  a  leader  and  pro- 
tector as  formerly,  through  a  new  system  of  patronage  accom- 
modated to  new  circumstances.  Local  magistrate  and  central 
representative,  these  are  his  two  principal  functions,  and,  if  we 
extend  our  observation  beyond  France  we  find  that  he  exercise* 
either  one  or  the  other,  or  both  togethe'. 


CHAPTER  III. 

LOCAL  SERVICES  DUE  BY  THE  PRIVILEGED  CLASSES.— I.  Examples  in  Ger 
many  and  England. — These  services  not  rendered  by  the  privileged  classe* 
hi  France. — II.  Resident  Seigniors. — Remains  of  the  beneficent  feudal  spirit. 
— They  are  not  rigorous  with  their  tenants  but  no  longer  retain  the  local 
government. — Their  isolation. — Insignificance  or  mediocrity  of  their  means 
of  subsistence. — Their  expenditure. — Not  in  a  condition  to  remit  dues. — 
Sentiments  of  the  peasantry  towards  them.— III.  Absentee  Seigniors. — Vast 
extent  of  their  fortunes  and  rights. — Possessing  greater  advantages  they  owe 
greater  services. — Reasons  for  their  absenteeism. — Effect  of  it. — Apathy  of 
the  provinces. — Condition  of  their  estates. — They  give  no  alms. — Misery  of 
their  tenantry. — Exactions  of  their  agents. — Exigencies  of  their  debts. — 
State  of  their  justiciary. — Effects  of  their  hunting  rights. — Sentiments  of  the 
peasantry  towards  them. 

I. 

LET  us  consider  the  first  one,  local  government.  There  are 
countries  at  the  gates  of  France  in  which  feudal  subjection,  more 
burdensome  than  in  France,  seems  lighter  because,  in  the  other 
scale,  the  benefits  counterbalance  disadvantages.  At  Munster,  in 
1809,  Beugnot  finds  a  sovereign  bishop,  a  town  of  convents  and 
a  large  seigniorial  mansion,  a  few  merchants  for  indispensable 
trade,  a  small  bourgeoisie,  and,  all  around,  a  peasantry  composed 
of  either  colons  or  serfs.  The  seignior  deducts  a  portion  of  all 
their  crops  in  provisions  or  in  cattle,  and,  at  their  deaths,  a  por- 
tion of  their  inheritances ;  if  they  go  away  their  property  reverts 
to  him.  His  servants  are  chastised  like  Russian  moujiks,  and  in 
each  outhouse  is  a  trestle  for  this  purpose  "without  prejudice  t  > 
graver  penalties,"  probably  the  bastinade  and  the  like.  Bit 
"never  did  the  culprit  entertain  the  slightest  idea  of  complaint 
or  appeal."  For  if  the  seignior  whips  them  as  the  father  of  a 
family  he  protects  them  "as  the  father  of  a  family,  ever  coming 
to  their  assistance  when  misfortune  befalls  them  and  taking  care 
of  them  in  their  illness ; "  he  provides  an  asylum  for  them  in  old 
age;  he  looks  after  their  widows,  and  rejoices  when  they  hav« 


CHAP.  in.  THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY.  29 

plenty  of  children ;  he  is  bound  to  them  by  common  sympathies ; 
they  are  neither  miserable  nor  uneasy ;  they  know  that,  in  every 
extreme  or  unforeseen  necessity,  he  will  be  their  refuge.1 — In  the 
Prussian  states,  and  according  to  the  code  of  Frederick  the  Great, 
a  still  more  rigorous  servitude  is  atoned  for  by  similar  obligations. 
The  peasantry,  without  their  seignior's  permission,  cannot  alienate 
a  field,  mortgage  it,  cultivate  it  differently,  change  their  occupa- 
tion or  marry.  If  they  leave  the  seigniory  he  can  pursue  there 
in  every  direction  and  bring  them  back  by  force.  He  has  the 
right  of  surveillance  over  their  private  life  and  he  chastises  them 
if  drunk  or  lazy.  When  young  they  serve  for  years  as  servants 
in  his  mansion ;  as  cultivators  they  owe  him  corvees  and,  in  cer- 
tain places,  three  times  a  week.  But,  according  to  both  law  and 
custom,  he  is  obliged  "  to  see  that  they  are  educated,  to  succoi 
them  in  indigence,  and,  as  far  as  possible,  to  provide  them  with 
the  means  of  support."  Accordingly  he  is  charged  with  the 
duties  of  the  government  of  which  he  enjoys  the  advantages, 
and,  under  the  heavy  hand  which  curbs  them,  but  which  sustains 
them,  we  do  not  find  his  subjects  recalcitrant.  In  England,  the 
upper  class  attain  to  the  same  result  by  other  ways.  There  also 
the  soil  still  pays  the  ecclesiastic  tithe,  strictly  the  tenth,  which 
is  much  more  than  in  France.2  The  squire,  the  nobleman,  pos- 
sesses a  still  larger  portion  of  the  soil  than  his  French  neighbor 
and,  in  truth,  exercises  greater  authority  in  his  canton.  But  his 
tenants,  the  lessees  and  the  farmers,  are  no  longer  his  serfs,  nor 
even  his  vassals ;  they  are  free.  If  he  governs  it  is  through  in- 
fluence and  not  by  virtue  of  a  command.  Proprietor  and  patron, 
he  is  held  in  respect ;  lord-lieutenant,  officer  in  the  militia,  ad- 
ministrator, justice,  he  is  visibly  useful.  And,  above  all,  he  lives 
at  home,  from  father  to  son ;  he  belongs  to  the  canton ;  he  is  in 
hereditary  and  constant  relation  with  the  local  public,  through 
his  occupations  and  through  his  pleasures,  through  the  chase  and 
caring  for  the  poor,  through  his  farmers  whom  he  admits  at  his 
table  and  through  his  neighbors  whom  he  meets  in  committee  or 
in  the  vestry.  This  shows  how  the  old  hierarchies  are  main- 

1  Beugnot,  "M6moires,"  v.  I.  p.  292.  De  Tocqueville,  "L'Ancien  Regime  et  la  ReVoIu- 
tton." 

*  Arthur  Young,  "Travels  In  France,"  II.  456.  In  France,  he  says,  it  is  from  the  eleventh 
to  the  thirty-second.  "But  nothing  is  known  like  the  enormities  connrtted  in  England 
where  the  tenth  is  really  taken." 

3* 


30  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  I 

tained :  it  is  necessary,  and  it  suffices,  that  they  should  change 
their  military  into  a  civil  order  of  things  and  find  modern  em- 
ployment for  the  chieftain  of  feudal  times. 

II. 

If  we  go  back  a  little  way  in  our  history  we  find  here  and 
there  similar  nobles.1     Such  was  the  Due  de  Saint-Simon,  father 
of  the  writer,  a  real  sovereign  in  his  government  of  Blaye,  and 
respected  by  the  king  himself.     Such  was  the  grandfather  of 
Mirabeau,  in  his  chateau  of  Mirabeau  in  Provence,  the  haugh- 
tiest, most  absolute,  most  intractable  of  men,  "demanding  that 
the  officers  whom  he  appointed  in  his  regiment  should  be  favor- 
ably received  by  the  king  and  by  his  ministers,"  tolerating  the 
inspectors  only  as  a  matter  of  form,  but  heroic,  generous,  faithful, 
distributing  the  pension  offered  to  himself  among  six  wounded 
captains  under  his  command,  mediating  for  poor  litigants  in  the 
mountain,  driving  off  his  grounds  the  wandering  attorneys  who 
come  to  practise  their  chicanery,  "the  natural  protector  of  man," 
even  against  ministers  and  the  king.     A  party  of  tobacco  in- 
spectors having  searched  his  curate's  house,  he  pursues  them 
so  energetically  on  horseback  that  they  hardly  escape  him  by 
fording  the  Durance,  whereupon,  "he  wrote  to  demand  the  dis- 
missal of  the  officers,  declaring  that  unless  this  was  done  every 
person  employed  in  the  Excise  should  be  driven  into  the  Rhine 
or  the  sea ;  some  of  them  were  dismissed  and  the  director  him- 
self came  to  give  him  satisfaction."     Finding  his  canton  sterile 
and  the  settlers  on  it  idle  he  organizes  them  into  companies, 
men,  women  and  children,  and,  in  the  foulest  weather,  puts 
himself  at  their  head,  with  his  twenty  severe  wounds  and  his 
neck  supported  by  a  piece  of  silver;  he  pays  them  to  work, 
making  them  clear  off  the  lands,  which  he  gives  them  on  leases 
of  a  hundred  years,  and  he  makes  them  enclose  a  mountain 
of  rocks  with  high  walls  and  plant  it  with  olive  trees.     "  No  one, 
under  any  pretext  could  be  excused  from  working  unless  he  was  ill, 

1  Salot-Simon,  "Memoires,"  ed.  Ch6ruel,  vol.  I.  Lucas  de  Montigny,  "M6mcires  dt 
Mirabeau,"  I.  53-182.  Marshal  Marmont,  "M6moires,"  I.  9,  n.  Chateaubriand,  "Mi*- 
moires,"  I.  17.  De  Montlosier,  "Meinoires,"  2  vol.  passim.  Mme.  de  Larochejacquelein, 
"  Souvenirs,"  passim.  Many  details  concerning  the  types  of  the  old  nobility  will  be  found 
in  these  passages.  They  are  truly  and  forcibly  depicted  in  two  novels  by  Balzac,  in 
"Beatrix,"  the  Baron  de  Gu£nic,  and  in  the  "Cabinet  Jes  Antiques,"  the  Marquu  d'E» 
grignon. 


CHAP.  in.  THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY.  31 

and  in  this  case  under  treatment,  or  occupied  on  his  own  property, 
a  point  in  which  my  father  could  not  be  deceived,  and  nobody 
would  have  dared  to  do  it."  These  are  the  last  offshoots  of  the 
old,  knotty,  savage  trunk,  but  still  capable  of  affording  shelter. 
Others  could  still  be  found  in  remote  cantons,  in  Brittany  and 
in  Auvergne,  veritable  district  commanders,  and  I  am  sure  that 
in  time  of  need  the  peasants  would  obey  them  as  much  out 
of  respect  as  from  fear.  Vigor  of  heart  and  of  body  justifies  its 
own  ascendency,  while  the  superabundance  of  energy  which 
begins  in  violence  ends  in  beneficence. 

Less  independent  and  less  harsh  a  paternal  government  sub- 
sists elsewhere,  if  not  in  the  law  at  least  through  custom.  In 
Brittany,  near  Tre"guier  and  Lannion,  says  the  bailly  of  Mira- 
beau,1  "  the  entire  staff  of  the  coast-guard  is  composed  of  peo- 
ple of  quality  and  of  races  of  a  thousand  years.  I  have  not 
seen  one  of  them  get  irritated  with  a  peasant-soldier,  while,  at 
the  same  time,  I  have  seen  on  the  part  of  the  latter  an  air  of 
filial  respect  for  them.  .  .  .  It  is  a  terrestrial  paradise  with  respect 
to  patriarchal  manners,  simplicity  and  true  grandeur :  the  atti- 
tude of  the  peasants  towards  the  seigniors  is  that  of  an  affection- 
ate son  with  his  father;  and  the  seigniors  in  talking  with  the 
peasants  use  their  rude  and  coarse  language  and  speak  only  in  a 
kind  and  genial  way.  We  see  mutual  regard  between  masters 
and  servants."  Farther  south,  in  the  Bocage  a  wholly  agricultural 
region,  and  with  no  roads,  where  ladies  are  obliged  to  travel  on 
horseback  and  in  ox-carts,  where  the  seignior  has  no  farmers,  but 
only  twenty-five  or  thirty  metayers  who  work  for  him  on  shares, 
the  supremacy  of  the  great  is  no  offence  to  their  inferiors. 
People  live  together  harmoniously  when  living  together  from 
birth  to  death,  familiarly,  and  with  the  same  interests,  occupa- 
tions and  pleasures ;  like  soldiers  with  their  officers,  on  campaigns 
and  under  tents,  in  subordination  although  in  companionship, 
familiarity  never  endangering  respect.  "  The  seignior  often  visits 
them  on  their  small  farms,2  talks  with  them  about  their  affairs, 
about  taking  care  of  their  cattle,  sharing  in  the  accidents  and 
mishaps  which  likewise  seriously  affect  him.  He  attends  their 

1  A  letter  of  the  bailly  of  Mirabeau,  1760,  published  by  M.  de  Lom6nie  in  the  "Corre*. 
pendant,"  v.  XLXIX.  p.  132. 

*  Mme.  de  Larochejacquelein,  ibid.  I.  84.  "  As  M.  de  Marigny  had  some  kn  owledge  of 
fce  veterinary  art  the  peasants  of  the  canton  came  after  him  when  th»  f  had  sicV  animal*  " 


J2  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  I. 

childrens'  weddings  and  drinks  with  the  guests.  On  Sunday 
there  are  dances  in  the  chateau  court  and  the  ladies  take  part  in 
them."  When  he  is  about  to  hunt  wolves  or  boars  the  curate 
gives  notice  of  it  at  the  sermon ;  the  peasants,  with  their  guns, 
gayly  assemble  at  the  rendezvous,  finding  the  seignior  who  assigns 
them  their  posts,  and  strictly  observing  the  directions  he  gives 
them.  Here  are  soldiers  and  a  captain  ready  made  A  little 
later,  and  of  their  own  accord,  they  will  choose  him  for  com 
mandant  in  the  national  guard,  mayor  of  the  commune,  chief 
of  the  insurrection,  and,  in  1792,  the  marksmen  of  the  parish 
are  to  march  under  him  against  "the  blues"  as,  at  this  epoch, 
against  the  wolves. — Such  are  the  remnants  of  the  good  feudal 
spirit,  like  the  scattered  remnants  of  a  submerged  continent. 
Before  Louis  XIV.,  the  spectacle  was  similar  throughout  France. 
"The  rural  nobility  of  former  days,"  says  the  Marquis  of  Mira- 
beau,  "spent  too  much  time  over  their  cups,  slept  on  old  chairs 
or  pallets,  mounted  and  started  off  to  hunt  before  daybreak,  met 
together  on  St.  Hubert's  and  did  not  part  until  after  the  octave 
of  St.  Martin.  .  .  .  These  nobles  led  a  gay  and  hard  life,  volun- 
tarily, costing  the  State  very  little  and  producing  more  for  it  by 
staying  at  home  and  utilizing  manure-heaps  than  we  of  to-day 
with  our  tastes,  our  researches,  our  cholics  and  our  vapors.  .  .  . 
The  custom,  and  it  may  be  said,  the  passion  of  constantly 
making  presents  to  the  seigniors,  is  well  known.  I  have,  in  my 
time,  seen  this  custom  everywhere  disappear,  and  properly.  .  .  . 
The  seigniors  are  no  longer  of  any  consequence  to  them;  it 
is  quite  natural  that  they  should  be  forgotten  by  them  as  they 
forget.  .  .  .  The  seignior  being  no  longer  known  on  his  estates 
everybody  pillages  him,  which  is  right." 1  Everywhere,  except 
in  remote  corners,  the  affection  and  unity  of  the  two  classes  has 
disappeared ;  the  shepherd  is  separated  from  his  flock,  and  the 
pastors  of  the  people  end  in  being  considered  its  parasites. 

Let  us  first  follow  them  into  the  provinces.  We  here  find 
only  the  minor  class  of  nobles  and  a  portion  of  those  of  medium 
rank ;  the  rest  are  in  Paris.2  There  is  the  same  line  of  separation 
in  the  church :  abbeVcommendatory,  bishops  and  archbishops 
very  seldom  live  at  home ;  the  grand-vicars  and  canons  live  in 

1  Marquis  de  Mirabeau,  "Trait6  de  la  Population,"  p.  57. 

*  De  Tocqueville,  ibid.  p.  180.     This  is  proved  by  the  registers  of  the  capitation-Mr 
which  was  paid  at  the  actual  domicile. 


CHAP.  ill.  THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY.  33 

the  large  towns ;  only  priors  and  curates  dwell  in  the  rural  dis- 
tricts ;  ordinarily  the  entire  ecclesiastic  or  lay  staff  is  absent ; 
residents  are  furnished  only  by  the  secondary  or  inferior  grades. 
What  are  their  relations  with  the  peasant  ?  One  point  is  certain, 
and  that  is  that  they  are  not  usually  hard,  nor  even  indifferent,  *o 
h:m.  Separated  by  rank  they  are  not  so  by  distance;  neighbor- 
hood is  of  itself  a  bond  among  men.  I  have  read  in  vain  ;  [ 
have  not  found  in  them  the  rural  tyrants  depicted  by  the  de 
claimers  of  the  Revolution.  Haughty  with  the  bourgeois  they 
are  generally  kind  to  the  villager.  "  Let  any  one  travel  through 
the  provinces,"  says  a  contemporary  advocate,  "over  the  estates 
occupied  by  the  seigniors;  out  of  a  hundred  one  may  be  found 
where  they  tyrannize  over  their  dependants;  all  the  others 
patiently  share  the  misery  of  those  subject  to  their  jurisdiction. 
.  .  .  They  give  their  debtors  time,  remit  sums  due  and  afford 
them  every  facility  for  settlement.  They  mollify  and  temper 
the  sometimes  over-rigorous  proceedings  of  ihefermiers,  stewards 
and  other  men  of  business." l  An  Englishwoman,  who  observes 
them  in  Provence  just  after  the  Revolution,  says  that,  detested 
at  Aix,  they  are  much  beloved  on  their  estates.  "Whilst  they 
pass  the  first  citizens  with  their  heads  erect  and  an  air  of  disdain, 
they  salute  peasants  with  extreme  courtesy  and  affability."  One 
of  them  distributes  among  the  women,  children  and  the  aged  on 
his  domain  wool  and  flax  to  spin  during  the  bad  season  and,  at 
the  end  of  the  year,  he  offers  a  prize  of  one  hundred  livres  for 
the  best  two  pieces  of  cloth.  In  numerous  instances  the  peasant- 
purchasers  of  their  land  voluntarily  restore  it  for  the  purchase 
money.  Around  Paris,  near  Romainville,  after  the  terrible  storm 
of  1788  there  is  prodigal  alms-giving;  "  a  very  wealthy  man  im- 
mediately distributes  forty  thousand  francs  among  the  surround- 
ing unfortunates;"  during  the  winter,  in  Alsace  and  in  Paris, 
everybody  is  giving;  "in  front  of  each  hotel  belonging  to  a  well- 
known  family  a  big  log  is  burning  to  which,  night  and  day,  the 
poor  can  come  and  warm  themselves."  In  the  way  of  charity, 
the  monks  who  remain  on  their  premises  and  witness  the  public 
misery,  continue  faithful  to  the  spirit  of  their  institution.  On 

1  Renauldon,  ibid.,  Preface  p.  5.  Anne  Plumptre,  "A  narrative  of  three  years  residence 
In  France  from  1802  to  1805,"  II.  357.  Baroness  Oberkirk,  "Mejnoires,"  II.  389.  "D« 
r^tat  religieux,"  by  the  abbe's  Bocnefol  and  Bernard,  1784  p.  295.  Mme  Vigee-Lebrun 
•Souvenirs,"  p.  171. 


34  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  i 

the  birth  of  the  Dauphin  the  Augustins  of  Montmorillon  in 
Poitou  pay  out  of  their  own  resources  the  tallies  and  corvees  of 
nineteen  poor  families.  In  1781,  in  Provence,  the  Dominicans 
of  Saint  Maximin  support  the  population  of  their  district  in 
w.iich  the  tempest  had  destroyed  the 'vines  and  the  olive  ttees. 
"The  Carthusians  of  Paris  furnish  the  poor  with  eighteen  hun- 
dred pounds  of  bread  per  week.  During  the  winter  of  1784 
there  is  an  increase  of  alms-giving  in  all  the  religious  establish- 
ments; their  farmers  distribute  aid  among  the  poor  people  of 
the  country,  and,  to  provide  for  these  extra  necessities,  many  of 
the  communities  increase  the  rigor  of  their  abstinences."  When, 
at  the  end  of  1789,  their  suppression  is  in  question,  I  find  a 
number  of  protests  in  their  favor,  written  by  municipal  officers, 
by  prominent  individuals,  by  a  crowd  of  inhabitants,  workmen 
and  peasants,  and  these  columns  of  rustic  signatures  are  truly 
eloquent.  Seven  hundred  families  of  Cateau-Cambre'sis1  send  in 
a  petition  to  retain  "the  worthy  abbe's  and  monks  of  the  Abbey 
of  St.  Andrew,  their  common  fathers  and  benefactors,  who  fed 
them  during  the  tempest."  The  inhabitants  of  St.  Savin,  in  the 
Pyrenees,  "portray  with  tears  of  grief  their  consternation"  at 
the  prospect  of  suppressing  their  abbey  of  Benedictines,  the  sole 
charitable  organization  in  this  poor  country.  At  Sierk,  near 
Thionville,  "the  Chartreuse,"  say  the  leading  citizens,  "is,  for  us, 
in  every  respect,  the  Ark  of  the  Lord ;  it  is  the  main  support  of 
from  more  than  twelve  to  fifteen  hundred  persons  who  come  to 
it  every  day  in  the  week.  This  year  the  monks  have  distributed 
amongst  them  their  own  store  of  grain  at  sixteen  livres  less  than 
the  current  price."  The  regular  canons  of  Domievre,  in  Lor- 
raine, feed  sixty  poor  persons  twice  a  week ;  it  is  essential  to  re- 
tain them,  says  the  petition,  "  out  of  pity  and  compassion  for  the 
poor  beings  whose  misery  cannot  be  imagined ;  where  there  are 
no  regular  convents  and  canons  in  their  dependency,  the  poor 
cry  with  misery."2  At  Moutiers-Saint-John,  near  Semur  in  Bur- 
gundy, the  Benedictines  of  Saint-Maur  support  the  entire  village 

1  Archives  nationales,  D,  XIX.  portfolios  14,  15,  25.  Five  bundles  of  papers  are  filled 
with  these  petitions. 

1  Ibid,  D,  XIX.  portfolio  u.  An  admirable  letter  by  Joseph  of  Saintignon,  abb6  of 
Domievre,  general  of  the  regular  canons  of  Salnt-Sauveur  and  a  resident  He  has  23,000 
livres  income,  of  which  6,066  livres  is  a  pension  from  the  government,  in  recompense  for  his 
tervices.  His  personal  expenditure  not  being  over  5,000  livres  "he  is  in  a  situation  to 
distribute  among  the  poor  and  the  workmen,  in  the  space  cf  eleven  yean,  mote  than  250,000 
Ivre*." 


CHAP.  ni.  THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY.  35 

and  supply  it  this  year  with  food  during  the  famine.  Near 
Morley  in  Barrois,  the  abbey  of  Auvey,  of  the  Cistercian 
order,  "was  always,  for  every  village  in  the  neighborhood,  a 
bureau  of  charity."  At  Airvault,  in  Poitou,  the  municipal  offi- 
cers, the  colonel  of  the  national  guard,  and  numbers  of  "rustics 
and  inhabitants"  demand  the  conservation  of  the  regular  canons 
of  St.  Augustin.  "Their  existence,"  says  the  petition,  "is  abso- 
lutely essential,  as  well  for  our  town  as  for  the  country  and  we 
should  suffer  an  irreparable  loss  in  their  suppression."  The 
municipality  and  permanent  council  of  Soissons  write  that  the 
establishment  of  Saint-Jean  des  Vignes  "has  always  earnestly 
claimed  its  share  of  the  public  charges.  This  is  the  institution 
which,  in  times  of  calamity,  welcomes  shelterless  citizens  and 
provides  them  with  subsistence.  It  alone  bears  the  expenses  of 
the  assembly  of  the  bailiwick  at  the  time  of  the  election  of 
deputies  to  the  National  Assembly.  A  company  of  the  regiment 
of  Armagnac  is  actually  lodged  under  its  roof.  This  institution 
is  always  found  wherever  sacrifices  are  to  be  made."  In  scores 
of  places  declarations  are  made  that  the  monks  are  "  the  fathers 
of  the  poor."  In  the  diocese  of  Auxerre,  during  the  summer  of 
3789,  the  Bernardines  of  Rigny,  "stripped  themselves  of  all  they 
possessed  in  favor  of  the  inhabitants  of  neighboring  villages : 
bread,  grain,  money  and  other  supplies,  have  all  been  lavished 
on  about  twelve  hundred  persons  who,  for  more  than  six  weeks, 
never  failed  to  present  themselves  at  their  door  daily.  .  .  . 
Loans,  advances  made  on  farms,  credit  with  the  purveyors  of  the 
house,  all  has  contributed  to  facilitating  their  means  for  relieving 
the  people." — I  omit  many  other  traits  equally  forcible ;  we  see 
that  the  ecclesiastical  and  lay  seigniors  are  not  simple  egoists 
when  they  live  at  home.  Man  is  compassionate  for  ills  of  which 
he  is  a  witness ;  absence  is  necessary  to  deaden  their  vivid  im- 
pression ;  the  heart  is  moved  by  them  when  the  eye  contemplates 
them.  Familiarity,  moreover,  engenders  sympathy ;  one  cannot 
retrain  insensible  to  the  trials  of  a  poor  man  to  whom,  for  over 
twenty  years,  one  says  good-morning  every  day  on  passing  him, 
with  whose  life  one  is  acquainted,  who  is  not  an  abstract  unit  in 
the  imagination,  a  statistical  cipher,  but  a  sorrowing  soul  and 
\  suffering  body. — And  so  much  the  more  because,  since  the 
writings  of  Rousseau  and  the  economists,  a  spirit  of  humanity, 
daily  growing  stronger,  more  penetrating  and  more  universal,  has 


36  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  i 

arisen  to  soften  fc  .e  heart.     Henceforth  the  poor  are  thought  of; 
and  it  is  esteemed  an  honor  to  think  of  them.     We  have  only 
to  read  the  memorials  of  the  States-General l  to  see  that  the 
spirit  of  philanthropy  spreads  from  Paris  even  to  the  chateaux 
and  abbeys  of  the  provinces.      I  am  satisfied  that,  excepting 
scattered  country  squires,  either  huntsmen  or  drinkers,  carried 
away  by  the  need  of  physical  exercise,  and  confined  through 
their  rusticity  to  an  animal  life,  most  of  the  resident  seigniors 
resembled,  in  fact  or  in  intention,  the  gentry  whom  Marmontel, 
in  his  moral  tales,  then  brought  on  the  stage ;  for  fashion  took 
this  direction,  and  people  in  France  always  follow  the  fashion. 
There  is  nothing  feudal  in  their  characters;    they   are  "sen- 
sible" folks,  mild,   very   courteous,  tolerably  cultivated,   fond 
of  generalities  and  easily  and  quickly  roused  and  very  much 
in  earnest,  like  that  amiable  logician  the  Marquis  de  Ferrieres,  an 
old  light-horseman,  deputy  from  Saumur  in  the  National  Assem- 
bly, author  of  an  article  on  Theism,  a  moral  romance  and  genial 
memoirs  of  no  great  importance;   nothing  could  be  more  re- 
mote from  the  ancient  harsh  and  despotic  temperament.     They 
would  be  glad  to  relieve  the  people  and  they  try  to  favor  them 
as  much  as  they  can.2    They  are  found  detrimental,  but  they  are 
not  wicked ;  the  evil  is  in  their  situation  and  not  in  their  charac- 
ter.    It  is  their  situation,  in  fact,  which,  allowing  them  rights 
without  exacting  services,  debars  them  from  the  public  offices, 
the  beneficial  influence,  the  effective  patronage  by  which  they 
might  justify  their  advantages  and  attach  the  peasantry  to  them. 
But  on  this  ground  the  central  government  occupies  their  place. 
For  a  long  time  they  are  very  feeble  against  the  intendant,  ut- 
terly powerless  to  protect  their  parish.     Twenty  gentlemen  can- 
not assemble  and  deliberate  without  the  king's  special  permis- 
sion.3   If  those  of  Franche-Comte"  happen  to  dine  together  and 
hear  a  mass  once  a  year,  it  is  through  tolerance,  and  even  then 
this  harmless  coterie  may  assemble  only  in  the  presence  of  the 
intendant. — Separated  from  his  equals,  the  seignior  again  is  sep- 

1  On  the  conduct  and  sentiments  of  lay  and  ecclesiastical  seigniors  cf.  Leonce  de  L» 
vergne,  "Les  Assemblies  provinciales,"  i  vol.  Legrand,  "  L'intendance  du  Hainaut,"  I 
roL  Hippeau,  "  Le  Gouvernement  de  Normandie,"  9  vols. 

*  "  The  most  active  sympathy  filled  their  breasts ;  that  which  an  opulent  man  most 
dreaded  was  to  be  regarded  as  insensible."  Lacretelle,  voL  V.  p.  a. 

1  Floquet,  "Histoire  du  Parlement  de  Normandie,"  vol.  VI.  p.  696.  In  1772  twenty-fiv* 
(enCer.en  ate  imprisoned  or  exiled  for  having  signed  a  protest  against  the  orders  c'  tht 
Hart 


THAV.  m.  THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY.  37 

arated  from  his  inferiors.  The  administration  of  a  village  is  of 
no  concern  to  him ;  he  has  not  even  its  superintendence.  The 
apportionment  of  taxes,  the  militia  contingent,  the  repairs  of  the 
church,  the  summoning  and  presiding  over  a  parish  assembly, 
the  making  of  roads,  the  establishment  of  charity  workshops,  all 
this  is  the  intendant's  business  or  that  of  the  communal  officers 
which  the  intendant  appoints  or  directs.1  Except  through  his 
justiciary  rights,  so  much  curtailed,  the  seignior  is  an  idler  in 
public  matters.2  If,  by  chance,  he  should  desire  to  act  in  an 
official  capacity,  to  make  some  reclamation  for  the  community, 
the  bureaux  of  administration  would  soon  close  his  mouth. 
Since  Louis  XIV.,  the  clerks  have  things  their  own  way ;  all  leg- 
islation and  the  entire  administrative  system  operate  against  the 
local  seignior  to  deprive  him  of  his  functional  efficacy  and  to 
confine  him  to  his  naked  title.  Through  this  separation  of  func- 
tions and  title  his  pride  increases  as  he  becomes  less  useful.  His 
self-love,  deprived  of  its  broad  pasture-ground  falls  back  on  a 
small  one ;  henceforth  he  seeks  distinctions  and  not  influence ; 
he  thinks  only  of  precedence  and  not  of  government.3  In 
short,  the  local  government,  in  the  hands  of  clowns  brutalized 
oy  men  of  the  pen,  is  a  plebeian,  scribbling  affair  which  seems 
to  him  offensive.  "  His  pride  would  be  wounded  if  he  were 
asked  to  attend  to  it.  Raising  taxes,  levying  the  militia,  regula- 
ting the  corvees,  are  servile  acts,  the  works  of  a  syndic."  He  ac- 
cordingly abstains,  remains  isolated  on  his  manor  and  leaves  to 
others  a  task  from  which  he  is  excluded  and  which  he  disdains. 
Far  from  protecting  his  peasantry  he  is  scarcely  able  to  protect 
himself,  to  preserve  his  immunities,  to  have  his  poll-tax  and 
vingtiemes  reduced,  to  obtain  exemption  from  the  militia  for  his 
domestics,  and  to  keep  his  own  person,  dwelling,  dependants,  and 
hunting  and  fishing  rights  from  the  universal  usurpation  which 
places  all  possessions  and  all  privileges  in  the  hands  of  "  Mon- 
seigneur  1'intendant"  and  Messieurs  the  sub-delegates.  And 

1  De  Tocqueville,  ibid.  pp.  39,  56,  75,  119,  184.  He  has  developed  this  point  with  admira- 
ble force  and  insight 

*  De  Tocqueville,  ibid.  p.  376.  Complaints  of  the  provincial  assembly  of  Haute-Guyenne. 
"  People  complain  daily  that  there  is  no  police  in  the  rural  districts.  How  could  there  be 
one  ?  The  noble  takes  no  interest  in  anything,  excepting  a  few  just  and  benevolent 
seigniors  who  take  advantage  of  their  influence  with  their  vassals  to  prevent  affrays." 

1  Records  of  the  States-General  of  1789.  Many  of  the  memorials  of  the  noblesse  consist 
of  the  requests  by  nobles,  men  and  women,  of  some  honorary  distinctive  mark,  for  instaiw 
ft  cross  or  a  ribbon  which  will  make  them  recognizable. 


38  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  J 

oftener  is  this  the  case  because  he  is  poor.  Bouille  estimates  that 
all  the  old  families,  save  two  or  three  hundred,  are  ruined.1  In 
Rouergue  several  of  them  live  on  an  income  of  fifty  and  even 
twenty-five  louis,  (1000  and  500  francs).  In  Limousin,  says  an  in- 
tendant  at  the  beginning  of  the  century,  out  of  several  thousands 
there  are  not  fifteen  who  have  twenty  thousand  livres  income.  In 
Berry,  towards  1754,  "three-fourths  of  them  die  of  hunger."  In 
Franche-Comte"  the  fraternity  to  which  we  have  alluded,  appears 
in  a  humorous  light,  "after  the  mass  each  one  returning  to  his 
domicile,  some  on  foot  and  others  on  their  Rosinantes."  In 
Brittany  "there  is  a  crowd  of  gentlemen  cellar-rats  on  the  farms 
in  the  lowest  occupations."  An  M.  de  la  Morandais  becomes 
the  overseer  of  an  estate.  A  certain  family  with  nothing  but  a 
small  farm,  "  attests  its  nobility  only  by  the  dove-cote;  it  lives 
like  the  peasants,  eating  nothing  but  brown  bread."  Another 
gentleman,  a  widower,  "passes  his  time  in  drinking,  living  licen- 
tiously with  his  servants  and  covering  butter-pots  with  the  hand- 
somest title-deeds  of  his  lineage."  "All  the  chevaliers  de  Chat- 
eaubriand," says  the  father,  were  drunkards  and  whippers  of 
hares."  He  himself  just  makes  shift  to  live  in  a  miserable 
way,  with  five  domestics,  a  hound  and  two  old  mares  "in  a 
chateau  capable  of  accommodating  a  hundred  seigniors  with 
their  suites."  Here  and  there  in  the  various  memoirs  we  see  these 
strange  superannuated  figures  passing  before  the  eye,  for  in- 
siance,  in  Burgundy,  "gentlemen  huntsmeu  wearing  gaiters  and 
hob-nailed  shoes,  carrying  an  old  rusty  sword  under  their  arms, 
.lying  with  hunger  and  refusing  to  work;"2  elsewhere,  "M.  de 
Perignan,  in  dress  attire,  with  sandy  perruque  and  visage,  hav- 
ing dry  stone  walls  built  on  his  domain,  and  getting  intoxicated 
with  the  blacksmith  of  the  place ; "  related  to  Cardinal  Fleury  he 
is  made  the  first  Due  de  Fleury. 

Everything  contributes  to  this  downfall,  the  law,  habits  and 
customs,  and,  above  all,  the  right  of  primogeniture.  Instituted 
for  the  purpose  of  maintaining  undivided  sovereignty  and  pat- 
ronage it  ruins  the  nobles  since  sovereignty  and  patronage  have 

1  De  Bouilld,  "M£moires,"  p.  50.  De  Tocqu«:ville,  ibid.  pp.  118,  119.  De  Lomenie, 
"  Les  Mirabeau,"  p.  132.  A  letter  of  the  bailly  of  Mirabeau,  1760.  De  Chateaubriand, 
"M£moires,"  I.  14,  15,  29,  76,  80,  125.  Lucas  de  Montigny,  "  Memoires  de  Mirabeau,"  L 
160.  Reports  of  the  Soci6t6  du  Berry,  "  Bourges  en  1753  et  1754,"  according  to  a  diary  (i> 
the  national  archives),  written  by  one  of  the  exiled  parliamer  tarians,  p.  273. 

1  "La  vie  de  mon  pere,"  by  R£tif  de  la  Bretonne,  I.  146. 


CHAP.  m.  THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY.  39 

no  material  to  work  on.  "  In  Brittany,"  says  Chateaubriand, 
"the  elder  sons  of  the  nobles  swept  away  two-thirds  of  the 
property  while  the  younger  sons  .shared  in  one-third  of  the 
paternal  heritage."1  Consequently,  "the  younger  sons  of 
younger  sons  soon  come  to  the  sharing  of  a  pigeon,  rabbit, 
hound  and  fowling-piece.  The  entire  fortune  of  my  grandfather 
did  not  exceed  five  thousand  livres  income,  of  which  his  elder 
son  had  two-thirds,  three  thousand  three  hundred  livres,  leaving 
one  thousand  six  hundred  and  sixty-six  livres  for  the  three 
younger  ones  upon  which  sum  the  elder  still  had  a  precipui 
claim."  2  This  fortune,  which  crumbles  away  and  dies  out,  they 
neither  know  how,  nor  are  they  disposed,  to  restore  by  com- 
merce, manufactures  or  proper  administration  of  it ;  it  would  be 
derogatory.  "High  and  mighty  seigniors  of  dove-cote,  frog- 
pond  and  rabbit-warren,"  the  more  substance  they  lack  the 
more  value  they  set  on  the  name.  Add  to  all  this  the  winter 
sojourn  in  town,  the  ceremonial  and  expenses  comportable  with 
vanity  and  social  requirements,  and  the  visits  to  the  governor  and 
the  intendant :  a  man  must  be  either  a  German  or  an  English- 
man to  be  able  to  pass  three  gloomy,  rainy  months  in  a  castle  or 
on  a  farm,  alone,  in  companionship  with  rustics,  at  the  risk 
of  becoming  as  awkward  and  as  fantastic  as  they.3  They  ac- 
cordingly run  in  debt,  become  involved,  sell  one  piece  of  ground 
and  then  another  piece :  a  good  many  alienate  the  whole,  ex- 
cepting their  small  manor  and  their  seigniorial  dues,  the  cens 
and  the  lods  etventes,  and  their  hunting  and  justiciary  rights  on 
the  territory  of  which  they  were  formerly  proprietors.4  Since 
they  must  support  themselves  on  these  privileges  they  must 
necessarily  enforce  them,  even  when  the  privilege  is  burdensome, 
and  even  when  the  debtor  is  a  poor  man.  How  could  they 

'  The  rule  is  analogous  with  the  other  coutumes  (common-law  rules),  of  other  places  and 
specially  in  Paris.  (Renauldon,  ibid.  p.  134.) 

*  A  sort  of  dower  right 

*  Mme.  d'Oberkirk,  "  Memoires,"  I.  395. 

«  De  BouillS,  "Memoires,"  p.  50.  According  to  him,  "all  the  noble  old  families,  except- 
.ng  two  or  three  hundred,  were  ruined.  A  larger  portion  of  the  great  tided  estates  had  be- 
come the  appanage  of  financiers,  merchants  and  their  descendants.  The  fiefs,  for  the  mos< 
part,  were  in  the  hands  of  the  bourgeoisie  of  the  towns."  Le'once  de  Lavergne,  "Econo- 
mic rurale  en  France,"  p.  26.  "The  greatest  number  vegetated  in  poverty  in  small  country 
fiefs  often  not  vorth  more  than  2,000  or  3,000  francs  a  year."  In  the  apportionment  of  the 
Indemnity  in  1025,  many  received  less  than  1,000  francs.  The  greater  number  of  indemnities 
do  not  exceed  50,000  francs.  "The throne,"  rays  Mirabeau,  "is  surrot*rded  only  by  ruined 
aobles." 


40  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  POOK  I 

remit  dues  in  grain  and  in  wine  when  these  con&itute  their 
bread  and  wine  for  the  entire  year  ?  How  could  they  dispense 
with  the  fifth  and  the  fifth  of  the  fifth  (du  quint  et  du  requint) 
when  this  is  the  only  coin  they  obtain?  why,  being  needy, 
should  they  not  be  exacting  ? — Accordingly,  in  relation  to  the 
peasant,  they  are  simply  his  creditors;  and  to  this  end  comes 
the  feudal  regime  transformed  by  the  monarchy.  Around  the 
chateau  I  see  sympathies  declining,  envy  raising  its  head,  and 
hatreds  on  the  increase.  Set  aside  in  public  matters,  freed 
from  taxation,  the  seignior  remains  isolated  and  a  stranger 
among  his  vassals;  his  extinct  authority  with  his  unimpaired 
privileges  form  for  him  an  existence  apart.  When  he  emerges 
from  it,  it  is  to  forcibly  add  to  the  public  misery.  On  this  soil, 
ruined  by  the  fisc,  he  takes  a  portion  of  its  product,  so  much  in 
sheaves  of  wheat  and  so  many  measures  of  wine.  His  pigeons 
and  his  game  eat  up  the  crops.  People  are  obliged  to  grind  in 
his  mill,  and  to  leave  with  him  a  sixteenth  of  the  flour.  The 
sale  of  a  field  for  the  sum  of  six  hundred  livres  puts  one  hun- 
dred livres  into  his  pocket.  A  brother's  inheritance  reaches 
a  brother  only  after  he  has  gnawed  out  of  it  a  year's  income. 
A  score  of  other  dues,  formerly  of  public  benefit,  no  longer 
serve  but  to  support  a  useless  private  individual.  The  peasant, 
then  as  at  the  present  day,  eager  for  gain,  determined  and 
accustomed  to  do  and  to  suffer  everything  to  save  or  gain  a 
crown,  ends  by  bestowing  side  glances  of  anger  on  the  turret  in 
which  is  preserved  the  archives,  the  rent-roll,  the  detested  parch- 
ments by  means  of  which  a  man  of  another  species,  favored  to 
the  detriment  of  the  rest,  a  universal  creditor  and  paid  to  do 
nothing,  grazes  over  all  the  ground  and  feeds  on  all  the  products. 
Let  the  opportunity  come  to  enkindle  all  this  covetousness  and 
the  rent-roll  will  burn  and  with  it  the  turret,  and  with  the  turret, 
the  chateau. 

III. 

The  spectacle  becomes  still  more  gloomy,  on  passing  from  the 
estates  on  which  the  seigniors  reside  to  those  on  which  they  are 
non-residents.  Noble  or  ennobled,  lay  and  ecclesiastic,  the  latte? 
are  privileged  among  the  privileged  and  form  an  aristocrac/ 
inside  of  an  aristocracy.  Almost  all  the  powerful  and  accredited 
%milies  belong  to  it  whatever  may  be  their  origin  and  their 


CHAP.  in.  THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY.  41 

date.1  Through  their  habitual  or  frequent  residence  near  the 
court,  through  their  alliances  or  mutual  visits,  through  their 
habits  and  their  luxuries,  through  the  influence  which  they 
exercise  and  the  enmities  which  they  provoke,  they  form  a 
group  apart,  and  are  those  who  possess  the  most  extensive 
estates,  the  leading  suzerainties,  and  the  completest  and  most 
comprehensive  jurisdictions.  Of  the  court  nobility  and  of  the 
higher  clergy,  they  number,  perhaps,  a  thousand  in  each  order, 
while  their  small  number  only  brings  out  in  higher  relief  the 
enormity  of  their  advantages.  We  have  seen  that  the  appanages 
of  the  princes  of  the  blood  comprise  a  seventh  of  the  territory ; 
Necker  estimates  the  revenue  of  the  estates  enjoyed  by  the 
king's  two  brothers  at  two  millions.2  The  domains  of  the  Dues 
de  Bouillon,  d'Aiguillon,  and  some  others  cover  entire  leagues 
and  in  immensity  and  continuity,  remind  one  of  those  which 
the  Duke  of  Sutherland  and  the  Duke  of  Bedford  now  possess 
in  England.  With  nothing  else  than  his  forests  and  his  canal, 
the  Duke  of  Orleans,  before  marrying  his  wife,  as  rich  as  himself, 
obtains  an  income  of  a  million.  A  certain  seigniory,  le  Cler- 
montois,  belonging  to  the  Prince  de  Cond6,  contains  forty 
thousand  inhabitants,  which  is  the  extent  of  a  German  principal- 
ity; "moreover  all  the  taxes  or  subsidies  occurring  in  le  Cler- 
montois  are  imposed  for  the  benefit  of  His  Serene  Highness, 
the  king  receiving  absolutely  nothing."3  Naturally  authority 
and  wealth  go  together,  and,  the  more  an  estate  yields,  the  more 
its  owner  resembles  a  sovereign.  The  archbishop  of  Cambray, 
Due  de  Cambray,  Comte  de  Cambresis,  possesses  the  suzerainty 
over  all  the  fiefs  of  a  region  which  numbers  over  seventy- 
five  thousand  inhabitants;  he  appoints  one-half  of  the  alder- 
men of  Cambray  and  the  whole  of  the  administrators  of  Ca- 
teau ;  he  has  the  nomination  to  two  great  abbeys,  and  pre- 

1  De  Bouill6,  "M6moires,"  p.  50.     Cherin,  "Abreg6  chronologique  des  £dits"  (1788). 
"  Of  this  innumerable  multitude  composing  the  privileged  order  scarcely  a  twentieth  part  of 
it  can  really  pretend  to  nobility  of  an  immemorial  and  ancient  date."    4,070  financial,  ad- 
ministrative, and  judicial  offices  conferred  nobility.     Turgot,  "  Collection  des  Economistes," 
II.  276.     "  Through  the  facilities  for  acquiring  nobility  by  means  of  money  there  is  no  rich 
man  who  does  not  at  oice  become  noble."     D'Argenson,  "  M6moires,"  III.  402. 

2  Necker,  "De  1'Administration  des  Finances,"  II.  271.      Legrand,  "L'Intendance  de 
Hainaut,"  pp.  104,  118,  152,  412. 

8  Even  after  the  exchange  of  1784,  the  prince  retains  for  himself  "  ill  personal  imposition! 
as  well  as  subventions  on  the  inhabitants,"  except  a  sum  of  6,000  liv  ef  for  roads.  Aichivet 
nationrJes,  G,  192,  a  memorial  of  April  i4th,  1781,  on  the  state  of  th  pgs  in  the  Clernr  jtois 
Report  of  the  provincial  assembly  of  the  Three  Bishoprics  (1787),  p  380. 

4* 


42  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  L 

sides  over  the  provincial  assemblies  and  the  permanent  bureau 
which  succeeds  them;   in  short,  under  the  intendant,  or  at  his 
side,  he  maintains  a  pre-eminence,  and  better  still,  an  influence, 
somewhat  like  that  to-day  maintained  over  his  domain  by  a 
grand-duke  incorporated  into  the  new  German  empire.      Near 
him,  in  Hainaut,  the  abbe"   of  Saint-Amand  possesses  seven- 
eighths  of  the  territory  of  the  provostship  while  levying  on 
the  other  eighth  the  seigniorial  taxes  of  the  corvees  and  the 
dime;  and  more  besides,  he  nominates  the  provost  of  the  al- 
dermen, so  that,  in  the  words  of  the  grievances,  "he  composes 
the  entire  State,  or  rather  he  is  himself  the  State." 1 — I  should 
never  end  if  I  were  to  specify  all  these  big  prizes.     Let  us  select 
only  those  of  the  prelacy,  and  but  one  particular  side,  that 
of  money.     In  the  "Almanach  Royal,"  and  in  "La  France  Ec- 
cle"siastique"  for  1788,  we  may  read  their  admitted  revenues;  but 
the  veritable  revenue  is  one-half  more  for  the  bishoprics,  and 
double  and  triple  for  the  abbeys;  and  we  must  again  double 
the  veritable  revenue  in  order  to  estimate  its  value  in  the  money 
of  to-day.2     The  one  hundred  and  thirty-one  bishops  and  arch- 
bishops possess  in  the  aggregate  5,600,000  livres  of  episcopal  in- 
come and  1,200,000  livres  in  abbeys,  averaging  50,000  livres  per 
head  as  in  the  printed  record,  and  in  reality  100,000;  a  bishop 
thus,  in  the  eyes  of  his  contemporaries,  according  to  the  state- 
ment of  spectators  cognizant  of  the  actual  truth,  was  "a  grand 
seignior,  with  an  income  of  100,000  livres."3    Some  of  the  most 
important  sees  are  magnificently  endowed.     That  of  Sens  brings 
in  70,000  livres;    Verdun,  74,000;    Tours,  82,000;    Beauvais, 
Toulouse  and  Bayeux,  90,000;   Rouen,  100,000;   Auch,  Metz 
and  Albi,  120,000;    Narbonne,  160,000;    Paris  and  Cambray, 
200,000  according  to  official  reports,  and  probably  half  as  much 
more  in  sums  actually  collected.     Other  sees,  less  lucrative,  are, 
proportionately,  still  better  provided.    Imagine  a  small  provincial 
town,  oftentimes  not  even  a  petty  sub-prefecture  of  our  times,— 
Conserans,   Mirepoix,  Lavaur,  Rieux,   Lombez,   Saint-Papoul, 
Comminges,  Lu$on,  Sarlat,  Mende,  Frejus,  Lescar,  Belley,  Saint- 
Malo,  Tre"guier,  Embrun,  Saint-Claude, — and,  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, less  than  two  hundred,  one  hundred,  and  sometimes  even 

1  The  town  of  St.  Amand,  alone,  contain?  to-day  10,210  inhabitants. 

2  See  note  3  at  the  end  of  the  volume. 
*  De  Ferrieres,  "Me'moires,"  II.  57.    "All  had  100,000.  some  zoo,  300,  and  even 


CHAP.  III.  THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY.  43 

less  than  fifty  parishes,  and,  as  recompense  for  this  slight  ecaesi- 
astical  surveillance,  a  prelate  receiving  from  25,000  to  70,000 
livres,  according  to  official  statements;  from  37,000  to- 105,000 
livres  in  actual  receipts;  and  from  74,000  to  105,000  livres 
in  the  money  of  to-day.  As  to  the  abbeys,  I  count  thirty- 
three  of  them  producing  to  the  abb6  from  25,000  to  i2:,ooo 
livres,  and  twenty-seven  which  bring  from  20,000  to  icc,ooo 
livres  to  the  abbess ;  weigh  these  sums  taken  from  the  Almanach, 
and  bear  in  mind  that  they  must  be  doubled,  and  more,  to 
obtain  the  real  revenue,  and  be  quadrupled,  and  more,  to 
obtain  the  actual  revenue.  It  is  evident,  that,  with  such 
revenues,  coupled  with  the  feudal  rights,  police,  justiciary  and 
administrative,  which  accompany  them,  an  ecclesiastic  or  lay 
grand  seignior  is,  in  fact,  a  sort  of  prince  in  his  district ;  that  he 
bears  too  close  a  resemblance  to  the  ancient  sovereign  to  be 
entitled  to  live  as  an  ordinary  individual ;  that  his  private  ad- 
vantages impose  on  him  a  public  character;  that  his  rank,  and 
his  enormous  profits,  make  it  incumbent  on  him  to  perform 
proportionate  services,  and  that,  even  under  the  sway  of  the 
intendant,  he  owes  to  his  vassals,  to  his  tenants,  to  his  feudato- 
ries the  support  of  his  mediation,  of  his  patronage  and  of  his 
gains. 

This  requires  a  home  residence,  but,  generally,  he  is  an  ab- 
sentee. For  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  a  kind  of  all-powerful 
attraction  diverts  the  grandees  from  the  provinces  and  impels 
them  towards  the  capital ;  and  the  movement  is  irresistible  for  it 
is  the  effect  of  two  forces,  the  greatest  and  most  universal  that 
influence  mankind,  one,  a  social  position,  and  the  other  the 
national  character.  A  tree  is  not  to  be  severed  from  its  roots 
with  impunity.  An  aristocracy  organized  to  rule  becomes  de- 
tached from  the  soil  when  it  no  longer  rules;  and  it  ceases  to 
rule  the  moment  when,  through  increasing  and  constant  en- 
croachments, almost  the  entire  justiciary,  the  entire  administra- 
tion, the  entire  police,  each  detail  of  the  local  or  general  gov- 
ernment, the  power  of  initiating,  of  collaboration,  of  control 
regarding  taxation,  elections,  roads,  public  works  and  charities, 
passes  over  into  the  hands  of  the  intendant  or  of  the  sub-delegate, 
under  the  supreme  direction  of  the  comptroller-general  or  of  the 
king's  council.1  Clerks,  gentiy  "of  the  robe  and  the  quill,' 

1  De  Tocqueville,  ibid,  book  2,  chap.  2.  p.  182.  Letter  of  the  bailly  of  Mirabesti,  AugusJ 
t^,  1770.  "  This  feudal  order  wai  merely  vigorous,  and  they  have  pronounced  it  ba  barcus 


44  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  I. 

plebeians  enjoying  no  consideration,  perform  the  work ;  there 
is  no  way  to  prevent  it.  Even  with  the  king's  delegates,  a  pro- 
vincial governor,  were  he  hereditary,  a  prince  of  the  blood, 
like  the  Conde"s  in  Burgundy,  must  efface  himself  before  the 
intendant ;  he  holds  no  efficient  office ;  his  public  duties  consist 
of  self-parade  and  in  giving  entertainments.  And  yet  he  would 
badly  perform  others ;  the  administrative  machine,  with  its  thou- 
sands of  hard,  creaking  and  dirty  wheels,  as  Richelieu  and  Louis 
XIV.  fashioned  it,  can  work  only  in  the  hands  of  workmen  re- 
movable at  pleasure,  unscrupulous  and  prompt  to  give  way  to 
the  judgment  of  the  State.  It  is  impossible  to  commit  oneself 
with  rogues  of  that  description.  He  accordingly  abstains,  and 
abandons  public  affairs  to  them.  Unemployed,  enervated,  what 
could  he  now  do  on  his  domain,  where  he  no  longer  reigns,  and 
where  dulness  overpowers  him  ?  He  betakes  himself  to  the 
city,  and  especially  to  the  court.  After  all,  this  is  the  only  career 
open  to  him ;  to  be  successful  he  has  to  become  a  courtier.  It 
is  the  will  of  the  king,  one  must  frequent  his  apartments  to  ob- 
tain his  favors;  otherwise,  on  the  first  application  for  them  the 
answer  will  be,  "  Who  is  he?  He  is  a  man  that  I  never  see."  In 
his  eyes  there  is  no  excuse  for  absence,  even  when  the  cause 
is  a  conversion,  with  penitence  for  a  motive ;  God  is  preferred 
to  him  and  it  is  desertion.  The  ministers  write  to  the  intend- 
ants  to  ascertain  if  the  gentlemen  of  their  province  "like  to  stay 
at  home,"  and  if  they  "  refuse  to  appear  and  perform  their  duties 
to  the  king."  Consider  how  great  the  attraction  was  ;  govern- 
ments, commands,  bishoprics,  benefices,  court-offices,  survivor- 
ships, pensions,  credit,  favors  of  every  kind  and  degree  for  self 
and  family,  all  that  a  State  of  twenty  or  twenty-five  millions  of 
men  can  offer  that  is  desirable  to  ambition,  to  vanity,  to  interest,  is 
found  here  collected  as  in  a  reservoir.  They  rush  to  it  and  draw 
from  it. — And  the  more  readily  because  it  is  an  agreeable  place, 
arranged  just  as  they  would  have  it,  and  purposely  to  suit  the 

because  France,  which  had  the  vices  of  strength  has  only  those  of  feebleness,  and  because 
the  flock  which  was  formerly  devoured  by  wolves  is  now  eaten  up  with  lice.  .  .  .  Three  or 
four  kicks  or  blows  with  a  stick  were  not  half  so  injurious  to  a  poor  man's  family,  nor  ta 
himself,  as  being  devoured  by  six  rolls  of  handwriting."  "The  nobility,"  says  St  Simon, 
In  his  day,  "  has  become  another  people  with  no  choice  left  it  but  to  crouch  down  in  mortal 
and  ruinous  indolence,  which  renders  it  a  charge  and  contemptible,  or  to  go  and  be  killed  in 
warfare  subject  to  the  insults  of  clerks,  secretaries  of  the  state  and  the  secretaries  of  in. 
tendants."  Such  are  the  complaints  of  feudal  spirits.  The  details  which  follow  are  al 
derived  from  Saint  Simon,  Dangeau,  de  Luynes,  d'Argenson  and  other  court  historians. 


CHAP.  in.  THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY.  45 

social  aptitudes  of  the  French  character.  The  court  is  a  vast 
permanent  drawing-room  to  which  "  access  is  easy  and  free  to 
the  king's  subjects ; "  where  they  live  with  him,  "  in  gentle  and 
virtuous  society  in  spite  of  the  almost  infinite  distance  of  rank 
and  power ; "  where  the  monarch  prides  himself  on  being  the  per- 
fect master  of  a  household.1  In  fact,  no  drawing-room  was  ever 
so  well  kept  up,  nor  so  well  calculated  to  retain  its  guests  by 
every  kind  of  enjoyment,  by  the  beauty,  the  dignity  and  the 
charm  of  its  decoration,  by  the  selection  of  its  company  and  by 
the  interest  of  the  spectacle.  Versailles  is  the  only  place  to  show 
oneself  off,  to  make  a  figure,  to  push  one's  way,  to  be  amused, 
to  converse  or  gossip  at  the  head-quarters  of  news,  of  activity 
and  of  public  matters,  with  the  elite  of  the  kingdom  and  the 
arbiters  of  fashion,  elegance  and  taste;  "Sire,"  said  M.  de  Vardes 
to  Louis  XIV.,  "away  from  Your  Majesty  one  not  only  feels  mis- 
erable but  ridiculous."  None  remain  in  the  provinces  except  the 
poor  rural  nobility;  to  live  there  one  must  be  behind  the  age, 
disheartened  or  in  exile.  The  king's  banishment  of  a  seignior 
to  his  estates  is  the  highest  disgrace;  to  the  humiliation  of  this 
fall  is  added  the  insupportable  weight  of  ennui.  The  finest  chat- 
eau on  the  most  beautiful  site  is  a  frightful  "  desert ";  nobody  is 
seen  there  save  the  grotesques  of  z  small  town  or  the  village  rus- 
tics.2 "  Exile  alone,"  says  Arthur  Young,  "  forces  the  French 
oobility  to  do  what  the  English  prefer  to  do,  and  that  is  to  live 
on  their  estates  and  embellish  them."  Saint-Simon  and  other 
court  historians,  on  mentioning  a  ceremony,  repeatedly  state  that 
"all  France  was  there";  in  fact,  every  one  of  consequence  in 
France  is  there,  and  each  recognizes  the  other  by  this  sign. 
Paris  and  the  court  becomes,  accordingly,  the  necessary  sojourn 
of  all  fine  people.  In  such  a  situation  departure  begets  depart- 
ure; the  more  a  province  is  forsaken  the  more  they  forsake  it. 
"  There  is  not  in  the  kingdom,"  says  the  Marquis  of  Mirabeau, 
"  a  single  estate  of  any  size  of  which  the  proprietor  is  not  in  Paris 
and  who,  consequently,  neglects  his  buildings  and  chateaux."1 

1  Works  of  Louis  XIV.  and  his  own  words.  Mme.  Vig6e-Lebrun,  "  Souvenirs,"  I.  71 : 
"  I  have  seen  the  queen  (Marie  Antoinette),  obliging  Madame  to  dine,  then  six  years  of 
•ge,  with  a  little  peasant  girl  whora  she  vas  taking  care  of,  and  insisting  that  this  little  on* 
ihould  be  served  first,  saying  to  her  daughter :  'You  must  do  the  honors.'  " 

*  Moliere,  "Misanthrope."    This  is  the  "  iesert"  in  which  Celimeue  refuses  to  be  buried 
with  Alceste.     See  also  in  the  "Tartuffe  "  the  pictu  -e  which  Dorine  'Vaws  of  a  small  town 
Arthur  Young,  "  Voyages  en  France,"  I.  78. 

*  "Trait6  de  la  Population,"  p.  108,  (1756). 


46  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  L 

The  lay  grand  seigniors  have  their  hotels  in  the  capital,  their  en- 
tresol at  Versailles,  and  their  pleasure-house  within  a  circuit  of 
twenty  leagues ;  if  they  visit  their  estates  at  long  intervals,  it  is 
to  hunt.  The  fifteen  hundred  commendatory  abbe's  and  priors 
enjoy  their  benefices  as  if  they  were  so  many  remote  farms.  The 
two  thousand  seven  hundred  vicars  and  canons  visit  each  other 
and  dine  out.  With  the  exception  of  a  few  apostolic  characters 
the  one  hundred  and  thirty-one  bishops  stay  at  home  as  little  as 
they  can;  nearly  all  of  them  being  nobles,  all  of  them  men  of 
society,  what  could  they  do  out  of  the  world,  confined  to  a  pro- 
vincial town  ?  Can  we  imagine  a  grand  seignior,  once  a  gay  and 
galla-nt  abb6  and  now  a  bishop  with  a  hundred  thousand  livres 
income,  voluntarily  burying  himself  for  the  entire  year  at  Mende, 
at  Comminges,  in  a  paltry  cloister  ?  The  interval  has  become 
too  great  between  the  refined,  varied  and  literary  life  of  the 
great  centre,  and  the  monotonous,  inert,  practical  life  of  the  prov- 
inces. Hence  it  is  that  the  grand  seignior  who  withdraws  from 
the  former  cannot  enter  into  the  latter,  and  he  remains  an  ab- 
sentee, at  least  in  feeling. 

A  country  in  which  the  heart  ceases  to  impel  the  blood 
through  its  veins  presents  a  sombre  aspect.  Arthur  Young,  who 
travelled  over  France  between  1787  and  1789,  is  surprised  to 
find  at  once  such  a  vital  centre  and  such  dead  extremities.  Be- 
tween Paris  and  Versailles  the  double  file  of  vehicles  going  and 
coming  extends  uninterruptedly  for  five  leagues  from  morning 
till  night.1  The  contrast  on  other  roads  is  very  great.  Leav- 
ing Paris  by  the  Orleans  road,  says  Arthur  Young,  "  we  met  not 
one  stage  or  diligence  for  ten  miles ;  only  two  messageries  and 
very  few  chaises,  not  a  tenth  of  what  would  have  been  met  had  we 
been  leaving  London  at  the  same  hour."  On  the  highroad 
near  Narbonne,  "  for  thirty-six  miles,"  he  says,  "  I  came  across 
but  one  cabriolet,  half  a  dozen  carts  and  a  few  women  leading 
asses."  Elsewhere,  near  St.  Girons,  he  notices  that  in  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  miles  he  encountered  in  all,  "two  cabriolets  and 
three  miserable  things  similar  to  our  old  one-horse  post  chaise, 
and  not  one  gentleman."  Throughout  this  country  the  inns  are 
execrable ;  it  is  impossible  to  hire  a  wagon,  while  in  England, 
even  in  a  town  of  fifteen  hundred  or  two  thousand  inhabitants, 

'  I  have  this  from  old  people  who  witnessed  it  before  1789. 


CHAP.  ni.  THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY.  47 

there  are  comfortable  hotels  and  every  means  of  transport 
This  proves  that  in  France  "there  is  no  circulation."  It  is  only 
in  very  large  towns  that  there  is  any  civilization  and  comfort. 
At  Nantes  there  is  a  superb  theatre  "  twice  as  large  as  Drury- 
Lane  and  five  times  as  magnificent.  Mon  Dieu  /  I  cried  to  my- 
self, do  all  these  wastes,  the  deserts,  the  heath,  ling,  furze, 
broom,  and  bog,  that  I  have  passed  for  300  miles  lead  to  this 
spectacle?  .  .  .  You  pass  at  once  from  beggary  to  profusion, 
.  .  .  the  country  deserted,  or  if  a  gentleman  in  it,  you  find  him 
in  some  wretched  hole  to  save  that  money  which  is  lavished 
with  profusion  in  the  luxuries  of  a  capital."  "A  coach,"  says 
M.  de  Montlosier,  "set  out  weekly  from  the  principal  towns  in 
the  provinces  for  Paris  and  was  not  always  full,  which  represents 
the  activity  in  business.  There  was  a  single  journal  called  the 
Gazette  de  France,  appearing  twice  a  week,  which  represents 
the  activity  of  minds." :  Some  of  the  magistrates  of  Paris  in  exile 
at  Bourges  in  1753  and  1754,  give  the  following  picture  of  that 
place.  "A  town  in  which  no  one  can  be  found  with  whom  you 
can  talk  at  your  ease  on  any  topic  whatever,  reasonably  or  sen- 
sibly; nobles,  three-fourths  of  them  dying  of  hunger,  rotting 
with  pride  of  birth,  keeping  apart  from  men  of  the  robe  and  of 
finance,  and  finding  it  strange  that  the  daughter  of  a  tax-col- 
lector, married  to  a  counsellor  of  the  parliament  of  Paris,  should 
presume  to  be  intelligent  and  entertain  company;  citizens  of 
the  grossest  ignorance,  the  sole  support  of  this  species  of  leth- 
argy in  which  the  minds  of  most  of  the  inhabitants  are  plunged; 
women,  bigoted  and  pretensions,  ind  much  given  to  play  and  to 
gallantry;"2  in  this  impoverished  and  benumbed  society,  among 
these  Messieurs  Thibaudeau  the  counsellor  and  Harpin  the  tax- 
collector,  among  these  vicomtes  of  Sotenville  and  Countesses 
d'Escarbagnas,  lives  the  Archbishop,  Cardinal  de  Larochefou- 
cauld,  grand  almoner  to  the  king,  provided  with  four  great  ab- 
beys, possessing  five  hundred  thousand  livres  income,  a  man  of 
the  world,  generally  an  absentee,  and  when  at  home,  finding 
amusement  in  the  embellishing  of  his  gardens  and  palace,  in 
short,  the  golden  pheasant  of  an  aviary  in  a  poultry  yard  of 
geese.3  Naturally  there  is  an  entire  absence  of  political  thought. 

1  "Me'moires  de  M.  de  Montlosier,"  I.  p.  161. 

*  Reports  of  the  Sooie'tcS  de  Berry,  "Bourges  en  1753  et  1754,"  p.  273. 

*  Ibid.  p.  271      One  day  the  cardinal,  showing  his  guests  over  his  palace  just  completed, 
fed  them  to  th»  bottom  of  a  corridor  where  he  had  placed  water  clofteU,  at  that  time  • 


48  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  L 

*  You  cannot  imagine,"  says  the  manuscript,  "  a  person  more  in- 
different to  all  public  matters."  At  a  later  period,  in  the  very 
midst  of  events  of  the  gravest  character,  and  which  most  nearly 
concern  them,  there  is  the  same  apathy.  At  Chateau-Thierry, 
on  the  4th  of  July,  1789,'  there  is  not  a  caf6  in  which  a  news- 
paper can  be  found;  there  is  but  one  at  Dijon;  at  Moulins,  the 
7th  of  August,  "in  the  best  cafe"  in  the  town,  where  I  found 
near  twenty  tables  set  for  company,  but  as  for  a  newspaper  I 
might  as  well  have  demanded  an  elephant."  Between  Stras- 
bourg and  Besangon  there  is  not  a  gazette.  At  Besancon 
there  is  "  nothing  but  the  Gazette  de  France,  for  which,  at 
this  period,  a  man  of  common  sense  would  not  give  one  sol, 
...  and  the  Courier  de  r Europe  a  fortnight  old;  and  well- 
dressed  people  are  now  talking  of  the  news  of  two  or  three 
weeks  past  and  plainly  by  their  discourse  know  nothing  of 
what  is  passing."  At  Clermont  "  I  dined,  or  supped,  five  times 
at  the  table  d'h6te  with  from  twenty  to  thirty  merchants,  trades- 
men, officers,  etc.,  and  it  is  not  easy  for  me  to  express  the  insig- 
nificance,— the  inanity  of  their  conversation.  Scarcely  any  pol- 
itics at  a  moment  when  every  bosom  ought  to  beat  with  none 
but  political  sensations.  The  ignorance  or  the  stupidity  of  these 
people  must  be  absolutely  incredible ;  not  a  week  passes  with- 
out their  country  abounding  with  events  that  are  analyzed  and 
debated  by  the  carpenters  and  blacksmiths  of  England."  The 
cause  of  this  inertia  is  manifest ;  interrogated  on  their  opinions, 
all  reply :  "  We  are  of  the  provinces  and  we  must  wait  to  know 
what  is  going  on  in  Paris."  Never  having  acted,  they  do  not 
know  how  to  act.  But,  thanks  to  this  inertia,  they  let  them- 
selves be  driven.  The  provinces  form  an  immense  stagnant 
pond,  which,  by  a  terrible  inundation,  may  be  emptied  exclu- 
sively on  one  side,  and  suddenly;  the  fault  lies  with  the  engi- 
neers who  failed  to  provide  it  with  either  dikes  or  outlets. 

Such  is  the  languor  or,  rather,  the  prostration,  into  which  loca] 
life  falls  when  the  local  chiefs  deprive  it  of  their  presence,  action, 

novelty.  M.  Boutin  de  la  Coul  Mnmiere,  the  son  of  a  receiver-general  of  the  finances,  mad* 
an  exclamation  at  the  sight  of  the  ingenious  mechanism  which  it  pleased  him  to  keep 
moving,  and,  turning  towards  the  abb£  de  Caniilac,  he  says:  "That  is  really  admirable,  bul 
what  seems  to  me  still  more  admirable  is  that  His  Eminence,  being  above  all  human  weak' 
ness,  should  condescend  to  make  use  of  it."  This  anecdote  is  valuable,  as  it  serves  to 
llustrate  the  rank  and  position  of  a  grand-seignior  prelate  in  the  provinces. 
1  Arthur  Young,  v.  II.  p.  330  and  the  following  pages. 


CHAP.  Hi.  THE  STRUCTURE.  OF  SOCIETY.  49 

or  sympathy.  I  find  only  three  or  four  grand  seigniors  taking  a 
part  in  it,  practical  philanthropists  following  the  example  of 
English  noblemen;  the  Due  d'Harcourt,  who  settles  the  law- 
suits of  his  peasants;  the  Due  de  Larochefoucauld-Liancourt 
who  establishes  a  model  farm  on  his  domain,  and  a  school  of  in 
dustrial  pursuits  for  the  children  of  poor  soldiers;  and  the  Comte 
de  Brienne,  whose  thirty  villages  are  to  demand  liberty  of  the 
Convention.1  The  rest,  for  the  most  part  liberals,  content  them- 
selves with  discussions  on  public  affairs  and  on  political  econo- 
my. In  fact,  the  difference  in  manners,  the  separation  of  inter- 
ests, the  remoteness  of  ideas  are  so  great  that  contact  between 
those  most  exempt  from  haughtiness  and  their  immediate  ten- 
antry is  rare,  and  at  long  intervals.  Arthur  Young,  needing  some 
information  at  the  house  of  the  Due  de  Larochefoucauld  him- 
self, the  steward  is  sent  for.  "  At  an  English  nobleman's,  there 
would  have  been  three  or  four  farmers  asked  to  meet  me  who 
would  have  dined  with  the  family  amongst  the  ladies  of  the  first 
rank.  I  do  not  exaggerate  when  I  say  that  I  have  had  this  at 
least  an  hundred  times  in  the  first  houses  of  our  islands.  It  is, 
however,  a  thing  that  in  the  present  style  of  manners  in  France 
would  not  be  met  with  from  Calais  to  Bayonne  except,  by  chance, 
in  the  house  of  some  great  lord  that  had  been  much  in  England, 
and  then  not  unless  it  was  asked  for.  The  nobility  in  France 
have  no  more  idea  of  practising  agriculture,  and  making  it  a 
subject  of  conversation,  except  on  the  mere  theory,  as  they 
would  speak  of  a  loom  or  a  bowsprit,  than  of  any  other  object 
the  most  remote  from  their  habits  and  pursuits."  Through  tradi- 
tion, fashion  and  deliberately,  they  are,  and  wish  only  to  be, 
people  of  society;  their  sole  concern  is  to  talk  and  to  hunt. 
Never  have  the  leaders  of  men  so  unlearned  the  art  of  leading 
men ;  the  art  which  consists  of  marching  along  the  same  pathway 
with  them  but  at  the  head,  and  directing  their  labor  by  sharing  in 
it.  Our  Englishman,  an  eye-witness  and  competent,  again  writes : 
"Thus  it  is  whenever  you  stumble  on  a  grand  seignior,  even  one 

1  De  Lom^nie,  "Les  Mirabeau,"  p.  134.  A  letter  of  the  bailly  September  25,  1760:  "I 
am  at  Harcourt,  where  I  admire  the  master's  honest,  benevolent  greatness.  You  cannot 
imagine  toy  pleasure  on  fete  days  at  seeing  the  people  everywhere  around  the  chateau, 
and  the  good  little  peasant  boys  and  girls  looking  right  in  the  face  of  their  good  landlord 
and  almost  pulling  his  watch  off  to  examine  the  trinkets  on  the  chain,  and  all  with  a  frater- 
nal air,  without  familiarity.  The  good  duke  does  not  allow  his  vassals  to  go  to  law;  L« 
listens  to  them  and  decides  for  them,  humoring  them  with  admirable  patience."  Lacrctclic, 
"Dix  ans  d'e'preuve,"  p.  58. 


50  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  U 

that  was  worth  millions,  you  are  sure  to  find  his  property  deseiL 
Those  of  the  Due  de  Bouillon  and  of  the  Prince  de  Soubise  are 
two  of  the  greatest 'properties  in  France;  and  all  the  signs  I  have 
yet  seen  of  their  greatness  are  wastes,  landes,  deserts,  fern,  ling. 
Go  to  their  residence,  wherever  it  may  be  and  you  would  prob- 
ably find  them  in  the  midst  of  a  forest  very  well  peopled  with 
deer,  wild  boars  and  wolves."  "  The  great  proprietors,"  says 
another  contemporary,1  "  attracted  to  and  kept  in  our  cities  by 
luxurious  enjoyments  know  nothing  of  their  estates,"  save  "of 
their  agents  whom  they  harass  for  the  support  of  a  ruinous  os- 
tentation. How  can  ameliorations  be  looked  for  from  those  who 
even  refuse  to  keep  things  up  and  make  indispensable  repairs?" 
A  sure  proof  that  their  absence  is  the  cause  of  the  evil  is  found 
in  the  visible  difference  between  the  domain  worked  under  an 
absent  abbe"-commendatory  and  a  domain  superintended  by 
monks  living  on  the  spot.  "The  intelligent  traveller  recognizes 
it "  at  first  sight  by  the  state  of  cultivation.  "  If  he  finds  fields 
well  enclosed  by  ditches,  carefully  planted,  and  covered  with 
rich  crops,  these  fields,  he  says  to  himself,  belong  to  the  monks. 
Almost  always,  alongside  of  these  fertile  plains,  is  an  area  of 
ground  badly  tilled  and  almost  barren,  presenting  a  painful  con- 
trast; and  yet  the  soil  is  the  same,  being  two  portions  of  the 
same  domain ;  he  sees  that  the  latter  is  the  portion  of  the  abb6« 
commendatory."  "Theabbatial  manse,"  said  Lefranc  de  Pom- 
pignan,  "frequently  looks  like  the  patrimony  of  a  spendthrift ;  the 
monastic  manse  is  like  a  patrimony  whereon  nothing  is  neglected 
for  its  amelioration,"  to  such  an  extent  that  "the  two-thirds" 
which  the  abb6  enjoys  bring  him  less  than  the  third  reserved  by 
his  monks.  The  ruin  or  impoverishment  of  agriculture  is,  again, 
one  of  the  effects  of  absenteeism;  there  was,  perhaps,  one-third 
of  the  soil  in  France,  which,  deserted  as  in  Ireland,  was  as  badly 
tilled,  as  little  productive  as  in  Ireland  in  the  hands  of  the  rich 
absentees,  the  English  bishops,  deans  and  nobles. 

Doing  nothing  for  the  soil  how  could  they  do  anything  for 
men?  Now  and  then,  undoubtedly,  especially  with  farms  that 
pay  no  rent,  the  steward  writes  a  letter,  alleging  the  misery  of  the 
farmer.  There  is  no  doubt,  also,  and  especially  for  thirty  years 
back,  they  desire  to  be  humane;  they  descant  among  themselves 

'  "De  l'£tat  religieux,"  by  the  abbes  de  Bonnefoi  et  Bernard,  1784,  pp.  287,  api. 


CHAP.  in.  THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY.  51 

about  the  rights  of  man;  the  sight  of  the  pale  face  of  a  hungry 
peasant  would  give  them  pain.  But  they  never  see  him;  does 
it  ever  occur  to  them  to  fancy  what  it  is  like  under  the  awkward 
and  complimentary  phrases  of  their  agent?  Moreover,  do  they 
know  what  hunger  is?  Who  amongst  them  has  had  any  rural 
experiences?  And  how  could  they  picture  to  themselves  the 
misery  of  this  forlorn  being  ?  They  are  too  remote  from  him  to 
do  that,  too  ignorant  of  his  mode  of  life.  The  portrait  they 
conceive  of  him  is  imaginary;  never  was  there  a  falser  repre 
sentation  of  the  peasant ;  accordingly  the  awakening  is  to  be  ter- 
rible. They  view  him  as  the  amiable  swain,  gentle,  humble  and 
grateful,  simple-hearted  and  right-minded,  easily  led,  being  con- 
ceived according  to  Rousseau  and  the  idyls  performed  at  this 
very  epoch  in  all  private  drawing-rooms.1  Lacking  a  knowledge 
of  him  they  overlook  him;  they  read  the  steward's  letter  and 
immediately  the  whirl  of  high  life  again  seizes  them  and,  after  a 
sigh  bestowed  on  the  distress  of  the  poor,  they  make  up  their 
minds  that  their  income  for  the  year  will  be  short.  A  disposi- 
tion of  this  kind  is  not  favorable  to  charity.  Accordingly, 
complaints  arise,  not  against  the  residents  but  against  the 
absentees.2  "  The  possessions  of  the  Church,  says  a  memorial, 
serve  only  to  nourish  the  passions  of  their  holders."  "  According 
to  the  canons,  says  another  memorial,  every  beneficiary  must 
give  a  quarter  of  his  income  to  the  poor;  nevertheless  in  our 
parish  there  is  a  revenue  of  more  than  twelve  thousand  livres, 
and  none  of  it  is  given  to  the  poor  unless  it  is  some  small  matter 
at  the  hands  of  the  curate."  "The  abbe"  de  Conches  gets  one- 
half  of  the  tithes  and  contributes  nothing  to  the  relief  of  the 
parish."  Elsewhere,  "  the  chapter  of  Ecouis,  which  owns  the 
benefice  of  the  tithes  is  of  no  advantage  to  the  poor,  and  only 
seeks  to  augment  its  income."  Near  by,  the  abbe"  of  Croix-Leu- 
froy,  "  a  heavy  tithe-owner,  and  the  abbe"  de  Bernay,  who  gets 
fifty- seven  thousand  livres  from  his  benefice,  and  who  is  a  non- 
resident, keep  all  and  scarcely  give  enough  to  their  officiating 
curates  to  keep  them  alive."  "  I  have  in  my  parish,  says  a  cur- 
ate of  Berry,3  six  simple  benefices  of  which  the  titularies  are  al- 

1  See  on  this  subject  "La  partie  de  chasse  de  Henri  IV.,"  by  Coll6.  Cf.  Berquin,  Florian, 
Marmontel,  etc.,  and  likewise  the  engravings  of  that  day. 

•    *  Boivin-Champeaux,  "  Notice  historique  sur  la  Revolution  dans  le  dcpartement  de  1'Eure," 
pp.  63,  61. 

•  Archives  nation  «les,  Reports  of  the  States-General  of  1789,  T,  XXXIX.,  p.  in.  Letta 


52  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  i. 

ways  absent,  and  they  enjoy  together  an  income  of  nine  thou- 
sand livres;  I  sent  them  in  writing  the  most  urgent  entreaties 
during  the  calamity  of  the  past  year;  I  received  from  one  of 
them  two  louis  only,  and  most  of  them  did  not  even  answer  me.' 
Stronger  is  the  reason  for  a  conviction  that  in  ordinary  times 
they  will  make  no  remission  of  their  dues.  Moreover,  these 
dues,  the  censives,  the  lods  et  ventes,  tithes,  and  the  like,  are  in  the 
hands  of  a  steward,  and  he  is  a  good  steward  who  returns  a  large 
amount  of  money.  He  has  no  right  to  be  generous  at  his  mas- 
ter's expense,  and  he  is  tempted  to  turn  the  subjects  of  his  mas- 
ter to  his  own  profit.  In  vain  might  the  soft  seignorial  hand  be 
disposed  to  be  easy  or  paternal;  the  hard  hand  of  the  proxy 
bears  down  on  the  peasants  with  all  its  weight,  and  the  cautious- 
ness of  a  chief  gives  place  to  the  exactions  of  a  clerk.  How  is 
it  then  when,  instead  of  a  clerk  on  the  domain,  a  fermier  is 
found,  an  adjudicator  who,  for  an  annual  sum,  purchases  of  the 
seignior  the  management  and  product  of  his  dues?  In  the 
election  of  Mayenne,1  and  certainly  also  in  many  others,  the 
principal  domains  are  rented  in  this  way.  Moreover  there  are 
a  number  of  dues,  like  the  tolls,  the  market-place  tax,  that  on 
the  flock  apart,  the  monopoly  of  the  oven  and  of  the  mill  which 
can  scarcely  be  managed  otherwise ;  the  seignior  must  necessa- 
rily employ  an  adjudicator  who  spares  him  the  disputes  and  the 
trouble  of  collecting.2  In  this  case,  so  frequent,  the  pressure 
and  the  rapacity  of  the  contractor,  who  is  determined  to  gain  or, 
at  least,  not  to  lose,  falls  on  the  peasantry :  "  He  is  a  ravenous 
wolf,"  says  Renauldon,  "  let  loose  on  the  estate,  who  draws  upon 
it  to  the  last  sou,  who  crushes  the  subjects,  reduces  them  to  beg- 
gary, forces  the  cultivators  to  desert,  and  renders  odious  the 
master  who  finds  himself  obliged  to  tolerate  his  exactions  to  be 
able  to  profit  by  them."  Imagine,  if  you  can,  the  evil  which  a 
country  usurer  exercises,  armed  against  them  with  such  bur- 
densome rights;  it  is  the  feudal  seigniory  in  the  hands  of  Har- 
pagon,  or  rather  of  old  Grandet.  When,  indeed,  a  tax  becomes 
insupportable  we  see,  by  the  local  complaints,  that  it  is  nearly 

»f  the  6th  March,  1789,  from  the  curat:  of  St.  Pierre  de  Ponsigny,  In  Berry.  D'Argenson, 
6th  July,  1756.  "The  late  cardinal  de  Soubise  had  three  millions  in  cash  and  he  gav« 
nothing  to  the  poor." 

1  De  Tocqueville,  ibid.  405.     Renauldon,  ibid.  628. 

2  The  example  is  set  by  the  king  who  sells  to  the  farmer-generals,  for  an  anr  lal  su  JO,  th« 
management  and  product  of  the  principal  indirect  taxes. 


CHAP.  HI.  THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY.  53 

always  z.fermier  who  enforces  it : l  it  is  one  of  these,  acting  for  a 
body  of  canons,  who  claims  Jeanne  Mermet's  paternal  inheritance 
on  the  pretence  that  she  had  passed  her  wedding  night  at  her 
husband's  house.  It  would  be  difficult  to  find  parallel  exactions 
in  the  Ireland  of  1830,  on  those  estates  where,  the  farmer-gen- 
eral renting  to  sub-farmers,  and  the  latter  to  others  still  below 
them,  the  poor  tenant  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder  himself  bore  the 
full  weight  of  it,  so  much  the  more  crushed  because  his  creditor, 
crushed  himself,  measured  the  requirements  he  exacted  by  those 
he  had  to  submit  to. 

Suppose  that,  seeing  this  abuse  of  his  name,  the  seignior  is  de- 
sirous of  withdrawing  the  administration  of  his  domains  from 
these  mercenary  hands ;  in  most  cases  he  is  unable  to  do  it :  he 
is  too  deeply  in  debt,  having  appropriated  to  his  creditors  a  cer- 
tain portion  of  his  land,  a  certain  branch  of  his  income.  For 
centuries,  the  nobles  are  involved  through  their  luxuriousness, 
their  prodigality,  their  carelessness,  and  through  that  false  sense 
of  honor  which  consists  in  looking  upon  attention  to  accounts 
as  the  occupation  of  an  accountant.  They  take  pride  in  their 
negligence,  regarding  it,  as  they  say,  living  nobly.2  "  Monsieur 
the  archbishop,"  said  Louis  XVI.  to  M.  de  Dillon,  "  they  say 
that  you  are  in  debt,  and  even  largely."  "Sire,"  replied  the 
prelate,  with  the  irony  of  a  grand  seignior,  "  I  will  ask  my  intend- 
ant  and  inform  Your  Majesty."  Marshal  de  Soubise  has  five 
hundred  thousand  livres  income,  which  is  not  sufficient  for  him. 
We  know  the  debts  of  the  Cardinal  de  Rohan  and  of  the  Comte 
d'Artois ;  their  millions  of  income  were  vainly  thrown  into  this 
gulf.  The  Prince  de  Guem6n6e  fails  on  an  indebtedness  of 
thirty-five  millions.  The  Duke  of  Orleans,  the  richest  proprietor 
in  the  kingdom,  owed  at  his  death  seventy-four  millions.  When 
it  became  necessary  to  pay  the  creditors  of  the  emigrants  out  of 
the  proceeds  of  their  possessions,  it  was  proved  that  most  of  the 

1  Voltaire,  "Politique  et  Legislation,  La  voix  du  Cure1,"  (in  relation  to  the  serfs  of  St. 
Claude).  A  speech  of  the  Duke  d'Aiguillon,  August  4th,  1789,  in  the  National  Assembly: 
"The  proprietors  of  fiefs,  of  seigniorial  estates,  are  rarely  guilty  of  the  excesses  of  whicfr 
their  vassals  complain ;  but  their  agents  are  often  pitiless." 

1  Beugnot,  "  Memoires,"  r.  I.  p.  136.  Due  de  Levis,  "  Souvenirs  et  portraits,"  p.  156^ 
"  Moniteur,"  the  session  of  November  22,  1872,  M.  Bocher  says :  "According  to  the  state- 
ment drawn  up  by  order  of  the  Convention  the  Duke  of  Orleans's  fortune  consisted  of 
74,000,000  of  indebtedness  and  140,000,000  of  assets.  On  the  8th  January,  T"p2,  he  h*4 
usigned  to  his  creditors  38,000,000  to  obtain  his  dischaige." 

5* 


54  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  i 

large  fortunes  were  eaten  up  with  mortgages.1  Readers  of  the 
various  memoirs  know  that,  for  two  hundred  years,  the  deficien- 
cies had  to  be  supplied  by  marriages  for  money  and  by  the 
favors  of  the  king.  This  explains  why,  following  the  king's  ex- 
ample, the  nobles  converted  everything  into  money,  and  espe- 
cially the  places  at  their  disposition,  and,  in  relaxing  authority 
for  profit,  why  they  alienated  the  last  fragment  of  government 
remaining  in  their  hands.  Everywhere  they  thus  laid  aside  the 
venerated  character  of  a  chief  to  put  on  the  odious  character  of 
a  trafficker.  "  Not  only,"  says  a  contemporary,2  "  do  they  give 
no  pay  to  their  officers  of  justice,  or  take  them  at  a  discount, 
but,  what  is  worse,  the  greater  portion  of  them  make  a  sale  of 
these  offices."  In  spite  of  the  edict  of  1693,  the  judges  thus  ap- 
pointed take  no  steps  to  be  admitted  into  the  royal  courts  and 
they  take  no  oaths.  "  What  is  the  result  ?  Justice,  too  often 
administered  by  knaves,  degenerates  into  brigandage  or  into  a 
frightful  impunity."  Ordinarily  the  seignior  who  sells  the  office 
on  a  financial  basis,  deducts,  in  addition,  the  hundredth,  the  fif- 
tieth, the  tenth  of  the  price,  when  it  passes  into  other  hands ; 
and  at  other  times  he  disposes  of  the  survivorship.  He  creates 
these  offices  and  survivorships  purposely  to  sell  them.  "  All  the 
seigniorial  courts,  say  the  memorials,  are  infested  with  a  crowd 
of  officials  of  every  description,  seigniorial  sergeants,  mounted 
and  unmounted  officers,  keepers  of  the  provostship  of  the  funds, 
guards  of  the  constabulary;  it  is  by  no  means  rare  to  find  as 
many  as  ten  in  an  arrondissement  which  could  hardly  maintain 
two  if  they  confined  themselves  within  the  limits  of  their  duties." 
Also  "they  are  at  the  same  time  judges,  attorneys,  fiscal-attor- 
neys, registrars,  notaries,"  each  in  a  different  place,  each  prac- 
tising in  several  seigniories  under  various  titles,  all  perambulat- 
ing, all  in  league  like  thieves  at  a  fair,  and  assembling  together 
in  the  taverns  to  plan,  prosecute  and  decide.  Sometimes  the 
seignior,  to  economize,  confers  the  title  on  one  of  his  own  de- 
pendants: "At  Hautemont,  in  Hainaut,  the  fiscal-attorney  is  a 
domestic."  More  frequently  he  intrusts  it  to  some  starveling 
advocate  of  a  petty  village  in  the  neighborhood  on  wages  which 

1  In  1785,  the  Duke  de  Choiseul  in  his  testament  estimated  his  property  at  fourteen 
millions  and  his  debts  at  ten  millions.  Corate  de  Tilly,  "M6moires,"  II.  215. 

*  Renauldon,  ibid.  45,  52,628.  Duvergier,  "  Collection  des  Lois,"  II.  391;  law  of  August 
31;  October  18,  1792.  Memorial  of  a  magistrate  of  the  Chatelet  on  se  gniorial  court! 
(1789),  p.  29.  Leg!  ir*4,  "1'Intendance  du  Hainan,"  p.  119. 


CHAP.  in.  THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY.  55 

"would  not  suffice  to  keep  him  alive  a  week."  He  indennifies 
himself  out  of  the  peasants.  Processes  of  chicanery,  delays  and 
wilful  complications  in  the  proceedings,  sittings  at  three  livres 
the  hour  for  the  advocate,  and  three  livres  the  hour  for  the  bailly : 
the  black  brood  of  judicial  leeches  suck  so  much  the  more 
eagerly,  because  the  more  numerous,  a  still  more  meagre  prey, 
having  paid  for  the  privilege  of  sucking  it.1  The  arbitrariness. 
the  corruption,  the  laxity  of  such  a  regime  can  be  divined. 
"  Impunity,"  says  Renauldon,  "  is  nowhere  greater  than  in  the 
seigniorial  tribunals.  .  .  .  There  is  no  investigation  into  the  foul- 
est crimes,"  for  the  seignior  dreads  supplying  the  means  for  a 
crimina1  trial,  while  his  judges  or  prosecuting  attorneys  fear  that 
they  will  not  be  paid  for  their  proceedings.  Moreover,  his  jail  is 
often  a  cellar  under  the  chateau ;  "  there  is  not  one  tribunal  out 
of  a  hundred  in  conformity  with  the  law  on  the  side  of  prisons ; " 
their  keepers  shut  their  eyes  or  stretch  out  their  hands.  Hence 
it  is  that  "his  estates  become  the  refuge  of  all  the  scoundrels  in 
the  canton."  The  effect  of  his  indifference  is  terrible  and  it  is  to 
react  against  him :  to-morrow,  at  the  club,  the  attorneys  whom 
be  has  multiplied  will  demand  his  head,  and  the  bandits  whom 
he  has  tolerated  will  place  it  on  the  end  of  a  pike. 

One  point  remains,  the  chase,  wherein  the  noble's  jurisdiction 
is  still  active  and  severe,  and  it  is  just  the  point  which  is  found  the 
most  offensive.  Formerly,  when  one-half  of  the  canton  con- 
sisted of  forest,  or  waste  land,  while  the  other  half  was  being 
ravaged  by  wild  beasts,  he  was  justified  in  reserving  the  right  to 
hunt  them;  it  entered  into  his  function  as  local  captain.  He 
was  the  hereditary  gendarme,  always  armed,  always  on  horse- 
back, as  well  against  wild  boars  and  wolves  as  against  rovers  and 
brigands.  Now  that  nothing  is  left  to  him  of  the  gendarme  but 
the  title  and  the  epaulettes  he  maintains  his  privilege  through  tra- 
dition, thus  converting  a  service  into  an  annoyance.  Hunt  he 
must,  and  he  must  hunt  by  himself;  it  is  a  physical  necessity 
and,  at  the  same  time,  a  sign  of  his  blood.  A  Rohan,  a  Dillon, 
chases  the  stag  although  belonging  to  the  church,  in  spite  of  edicts 

•Archives  nationales,  H,  614  ("M6moire"  by  Ren6  de  Hauteville,  advocate  to  the 
Parliament,  Saint-Brieuc,  October  5,  1776.)  In  Brittany  the  number  of  seigniorial  courts 
Is  immense,  the  pleaders  being  obliged  to  pass  through  four  or  five  jurisdictions  before  reach- 
ing the  Parliament  "  Where  is  justice  rendered  ?  In  the  cabaret,  in  the  tavern,  where,  in 
the  bosom  of  intoxication  and  dcba1  ichery,  the  judge  sells  justice  to  whoever  pays  the  most 
'or  it" 


56  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  I. 

and  in  spite  of  the  canons.  "You  hunt  too  much,"  said  Louis 
XV.,1  to  the  latter;  "I  know  something  about  it.  How  can  you 
prohibit  your  curates  from  hunting  if  you  pass  your  life  in  setting 
them  such  an  example  ? — Sire,  for  my  curates  the  chase  is  a 
fault,  for  myself  it  is  the  fault  of  my  ancestors."  When  the  self- 
love  of  caste  thus  mounts  guard  over  a  right  it  is  with  obstinate 
vigilance.  Accordingly,  their  captains  of  the  chase,  their  game- 
keepers, their  wood-rangers,  their  forest- wardens  protect  brutes  as 
if  they  were  men  and  men  as  if  they  were  brutes.  In  the  baili- 
wick of  Pont-1'Ev^que  in  1789  four  instances  are  cited  "of  recent 

assassinations  committed  by  the  game-keepers  of  Mme.  d'A , 

Mme.  N ,  a  prelate  and  a  marshal  of  France,  on  ple- 
beians caught  breaking  the  game  laws  or  carrying  guns.  All 
four  publicly  escape  punishment."  In  Artois,  a  parish  makes 
declaration  that  "on  the  lands  of  the  chattellany  the  game  de- 
vours all  the  avetis  (pine  saplings)  and  that  the  growers  of  them 
will  be  obliged  to  abandon  their  business."  Not  far  off,  al 
Rumancourt,  at  Bellone,  "the  hares,  rabbits  and  partridges  en- 
tirely devour  them,  Count  d'Oisy  never  hunting  nor  having, 
hunts."  In  twenty  villages  in  the  neighborhood  around  Oisy 
where  he  hunts  it  is  on  horseback  and  across  the  crops.  "  His 
game-keepers,  always  armed,  have  killed  several  persons  unde* 
the  pretence  of  watching  over  their  master's  rights.  .  .  .  The 
game,  which  greatly  exceeds  that  of  the  royal  captainries,  con- 
sumes annually  all  prospects  of  a  crop,  twenty  thousand  raztires 
of  wheat  and  as  many  of  other  grains."  In  the  bailiwick  of 
Evreux  "the  game  has  just  destroyed  everything  up  to  the  very 
houses.  .  .  .  On  account  of  the  game  the  citizen  is  not  free  to 
pull  up  the  weeds  in  summer  which  clog  the  grain  and  injure  the 
seed  sown.  .  .  .  How  many  women  are  there  without  husbands, 
and  children  without  fathers,  on  account  of  a  poor  hare  or  rab- 
bit ! "  The  game-keepers  of  the  forest  of  Goufrray  in  Nor- 
mandy "  are  so  terrible  that  they  maltreat,  insult  and  kill  men. 
...  I  know  of  farmers  who,  having  pleaded  against  the  lady  to 
he  indemnified  for  the  loss  of  their  wheat,  not  only  lost  their 
time  but  their  crops  and  the  expenses  of  the  trial.  .  .  .  Stags 
and  deer  are  seen  roving  around  our  houses  in  open  daylight." 
In  the  bailiwick  of  Domfront,  "the  inhabitants  of  more  than  ten 
parishes  are  obliged  to  watch  all  night  for  more  than  six  months 

1  Beugnot,  "  M£moires,"  vol.  I.  p.  35. 


CHAP.  in.  THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY.  57 

of  the  year  in  order  to  preserve  their  crops. " 1 — Such  is  the  effect 
of  the  right  of  the  chase  in  the  provinces.  The  most  deplorable 
spectacle,  however,  is  in  the  Ile-de-France,  where  the  captain- 
ries  abound  and  increase  in  size.  A proces-verbal shows  that  in 
the  parish  of  Vaux  alone,  near  Meulan,  the  rabbits  of  the  neigh- 
boring warrens  ravaged  eight  hundred  arpents  of  cultivated 
ground,  and  destroyed  the  crops  of  two  thousand  fou-r  hundred 
sellers  (three  acres  each),  that  is  to  say,  the  supply  of  food  for 
one  year  of  eight  hundred  persons.  Not  far  off,  at  La  Ro- 
chette,  herds  of  deer  and  stags  devour  everything  on  the  fields 
during  the  day,  and,  at  night,  even  invade  the  small  gardens 
of  the  inhabitants,  consuming  their  vegetables  and  breaking 
down  their  young  trees.  It  is  found  impossible  to  gather 
in  the  crops  of  vegetables  in  any  territory  subject  to  a 
captainry,  except  in  gardens  protected  by  high  walls.  At 
Farcy,  of  five  hundred  peach  trees  planted  in  a  vineyard  and 
browsed  on  by  stags,  only  twenty  remain  at  the  end  of  three 
years.  Over  the  whole  territory  of  Fontainebleau,  the  commu- 
nities, to  save  their  vines,  are  obliged  to  maintain,  with  the 
assent  always  of  the  captainry,  a  gang  of  watchmen  who,  with 
licensed  dogs,  keep  watch  and  make  a  hubbub  all  night  from  the 
first  of  May  to  the  middle  of  October.  At  Chartrettes  the  deer 
cross  the  Seine,  approach  the  doors  of  the  Comtesse  de  Laroche- 
foucauld  and  destroy  entire  plantations  of  poplars.  A  domain 
rented  for  two  thousand  livres  brings  in  only  four  hundred  after 
the  establishment  of  the  captainry  of  Versailles.  In  short, 
eleven  regiments  of  an  enemy's  cavalry,  quartered  on  the  eleven 
captainries  near  the  capital,  and  starting  out  daily  to  forage, 
could  not  do  more  mischief.  We  need  not  be  surprised  if,  in  the 
neighborhood  of  these  lairs,  the  people  become  weary  of  culti- 
vating.2 Near  Fontainebleau  and  Melun,  at  Bois-le-Roi,  three- 

1  Boivin-Champeaux,  ibid.  48.  Renauldon,  26,  416.  Manuscript  reports  of  the  States- 
General  (Archives  rationales)  t.  CXXXII.  pp.  896  and  901.  Hippeau,  "  Le  Gouvemement  de 
Normandie,"  VII.  61,  74.  P6rin,  "  La  Jeunesse  de  Robespierre,"  pp.  314-324.  "  Essai  sui 
es  capitaineries  royales  et  autres,"  (1789)  passim.  De  Lome'nie,  "  Beaumarchais  et  son 
temps,"  I.  125.  Beaumarchais  having  purchased  the  office  of  lieutenant-general  of  the 
:hase  in  the  bailiwicks  of  the  Louvre  warren  (twelve  to  fifteen  leagues  in  circumference) 
tries  delinquents  under  this  title.  July  isth,  1766,  he  sentences  Ragondet,  a  farmer,  to  a 
fine  of  one  hundred  livres  together  with  the  demolition  of  the  walls  around  an  enclosure, 
also  of  his  shed  newly  built  without  license,  as  tending  to  restrict  the  pleasures  of  the  king. 

*  LVArgenson,  "Mfimoires,"  ed.  Rathery,  January  21,  1757.  "The  sieur  de  Montmorin, 
captain  of  the  game-preserves  of  Fontainebleau,  derives  from  his  office  enormous  sums,  and 
behaves  himself  like  a  brigand.  The  population  of  more  than  a  hundred  villages  around 
to  longer  sow  their  land,  the  fruits  and  grain  being  eaten  by  deer,  stags  and  other  gam* 


58  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  I 

quarters  of  the  ground  remains  waste ;  almost  al  the  houses  in 
Brolle  are  in  ruins,  only  half-crumbling  gables  being  visible ;  at 
Coutilles  and  at  Chapelle-Rablay,  five  farms  are  abandoned; 
at  Arbonne,  numerous  fields  are  neglected ;  at  Villiers,  and  at 
Dame-Marie,  where  there  were  four  farming  companies  and  a 
number  of  special  cultures,  eight  hundred  arpents  remain  un- 
tilled.  Strange  to  say,  as  the  century  becomes  more  polished 
the  system  of  the  chase  becomes  more  imperious.  The  officers 
of  the  captainry  are  zealous  because  they  labor  under  the  eye 
and  for  the  "pleasures"  of  their  master.  In  1789,  eight  hun- 
dred preserves  had  just  been  planted  in  one  'ingle  canton  of  the 
captainry  of  Fontainebleau,  and  in  spite  of  the  proprietors  of 
the  soil.  According  to  the  regulations  of  1762  every  private  in- 
dividual domiciled  on  the  reservation  of  a  captainry  is  inter- 
dicted from  enclosing  his  homestead  or  any  ground  whatever 
with  hedges  or  ditches,  or  walls  without  a  special  permit.  In 
case  of  a  permit  being  given  he  must  leave  a  wide,  open,  and 
continuous  space  in  order  to  let  the  huntsmen  easily  pass 
through.  He  is  not  allowed  to  keep  any  ferret,  any  fire-arm, 
any  instrument  adapted  to  the  chase,  nor  to  be  followed  by  any 
dog  even  if  not  trained  for  it,  unless  the  dog  be  held  by  a  leash 
or  clog  fastened  around  its  neck.  And  better  still.  He  is  for- 
bidden to  reap  his  meadow  or  his  luzerne  before  St.  John's  day, 
to  enter  his  own  field  between  the  first  of  May  and  the  twenty- 
fourth  of  June,  to  visit  any  island  in  the  Seine,  to  cut  grass  on  it 
or  osiers,  even  if  the  grass  and  osiers  belong  to  him.  The  rea- 
son is,  that  now  the  partridge  is  hatching  and  the  legislator 
protects  it ;  he  would  take  less  pains  for  a  woman  in  confine- 
ment; the  old  chroniclers  would  say  of  him,  as  with  William 
Rufus,  that  his  bowels  are  paternal  only  for  animals.  Now,  in 
France,  four  hundred  square  leagues  of  territory  are  subject  to 
the  control  of  the  captainries,  and,  over  all  France,  game,  large 
or  small,  is  the  tyrant  of  the  peasant.  The  conclusion  is,  — 
rather,  listen  to  the  people's  conclusion.  "  Every  time,"  says  M. 
Montlosier,  in  1789,  "that  I  chanced  to  encounter  herds  of  deer 

They  keep  only  a  few  vines  which  they  preserve  six  months  of  the  year  by  mounting  guard 
day  and  night  with  drums,  making  a  general  turmoil  to  frighten  off  the  destructive  animals." 
January  23,  1753. — "M.  le  Prince  de  Conti  has  established  a  captainry  of  eleven  league* 
around  He-Adam  and  where  everybody  is  vexed  at  it."  September  23,  1753.— "Since 
M.  le  Due  d'Or!6ans  came  to  Villers-Cotterets,  he  has  revived  tne  capta1  ary ;  there  are  more 
Wan  sixty  places  for  sale  on  account  of  these  princely  annoyances." 


CHAP.  ill.  THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY.  59 

or  does  on  my  road  my  guides  immediately  shouted,  There 
goes  the  nobility !  alluding  to  the  ravages  committed  by  these 
animals  on  their  grounds."  Accordingly,  in  the  eyes  of  their 
subjects,  they  are  wild  animals. 

This  shows  to  what  privileges  lead  when  divorced  from  ser 
vices.  It  is  thus  that  an  obligation  to  protect  degenerates  into  a 
right  of  devastation ;  thus  do  humane  and  rational  beings  act, 
unconsciously,  like  irrational  and  inhuman  beings.  Divorced 
from  the  people  they  misuse  them;  nominal  chiefs,  they  have  un- 
learned the  function  of  an  effective  chief;  having  lost  all  public 
character  they  abate  nothing  of  their  private  advantages.  So 
much  the  worse  for  the  canton,  and  so  much  the  worse  for 
themselves !  The  thirty  or  forty  poachers  whom  they  prosecute 
to-day  on  their  estates  will  march  to-morrow  to  attack  their 
chateaux  at  the  head  of  an  insurrection.  The  absence  of  the 
masters,  the  apathy  of  the  provinces,  the  bad  state  of  cultivation, 
the  exactions  of  agents,  the  corruption  of  the  tribunals,  the  vex- 
ations of  the  captainries,  indolence,  the  indebtedness  and  exi- 
gencies of  the  seignior,  desertion,  misery,  the  brutality  and  hos- 
tility of  vassals,  all  proceeds  from  the  same  cause  and  terminates 
in  the  same  effect.  When  sovereignty  becomes  transformed  into 
a  sinecure  it  becomes  burdensome  without  being  useful,  and 
on  becoming  burdensome  without  being  useful  it  is  overthrown 


CHAPTER  IV. 

PUBLIC  SERVICES  DITE  BY  THE  PRIVILEGED  CLASSES. — I.  An  English  ex 
simple. — The  privileged  ciass  renders  no  service  in  France. — The  influence 
and  rights  which  remain  to  them. — They  use  them  only  for  themselves. — 
II.  Assemblies  of  the  clergy. — They  serve  only  ecclesiastical  interests.— 
The  clergy  exempted  from  taxation. — Solicitations  of  its  agents. — Its  zeai 
against  the  Protestants. — III.  Influence  of  the  nobles. — Regulations  in  theit 
favor. — Preferments  obtained  by  them  in  the  Church. — Distribution  of  bish- 
oprics and  abbeys. — Preferments  obtained  by  them  from  the  State. — Gov- 
ernments, offices,  sinecures,  pensions,  gratuities. — Instead  of  being  useful 
they  are  an  expense. — IV.  Isolation  of  the  chiefs. — Sentiments  of  subordi- 
nates.— Provincial  nobility. — The  Curates. — V.  The  King. — The  most  priv- 
ileged of  all. — Having  monopolized  all  powers,  he  takes  upon  himself  their 
functional  activity. — The  burden  of  this  task. — He  evades  it  or  is  incompe- 
tent.— His  conscience  at  ease. — France  is  his  property. — How  he  abuses  it. 
— Royalty  the  centre  of  abuses. — Latent  disorganization  in  France. 

I. 

USELESS  in  the  canton  they  might  have  been  useful  at  the 
centre  of  the  State,  and,  without  taking  part  in  the  local  govern- 
ment, they  might  have  served  in  the  general  government.  Thus 
does  a  lord,  a  baronet,  a  squire  act  in  England,  even  when  not  a 
"justice"  of  his  county  or  a  committee-man  in  his  parish.  Elected 
a  member  of  the  lower  house,  a  hereditary  member  of  the  upper 
house,  he  holds  the  strings  of  the  public  purse  and  prevents  the 
sovereign  from  spending  too  freely.  Such  is  the  regime  in  coun- 
tries where  the  feudal  seigniors,  instead  of  allowing  the  sovereign 
to  ally  himself  with  the  people  against  them,  allied  themselves 
with  the  people  against  the  sovereign.  To  protect  their  own  in- 
terests better  they  secured  protection  for  the  interests  of  others, 
and,  after  having  served  as  the  representatives  of  their  com- 
peers they  became  the  representatives  of  the  nation.  Nothing 
of  this  kind  takes  place  in  France.  The  States- General  are 
fallen  into  desuetude  and  the  king  may  with  truth  declare  him- 
self ths  sole  representative  of  the  country.  Like  trees  rendered 


CHAP.  £V.  THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY.  61 

lifeless  under  the  shadow  of  a  gigantic  oak,  other  public  powers 
perish  through  his  growth ;  whatever  still  remains  of  these  en- 
cumbers the  ground,  and  forms  around  him  a  circle  of  clamber- 
ing briers  or  of  decaying  trunks.  One  of  them,  the  Parliament, 
in  offshoot  simply  of  the  great  oak,  sometimes  imagined  itself  in 
possession  of  a  root  of  its  own ;  but  its  sap  was  too  evidently  de- 
rivative for  it  to  stand  by  itself  and  provide  the  people  with  an 
independent  shelter.  Other  bodies,  surviving,  although  stunted, 
the  assembly  of  the  clergy  and  the  provincial  assemblies,  still 
protect  one  order,  and  four  or  five  provinces ;  but  this  protection 
extends  only  to  the  order  itself  or  to  the  province,  and,  if  it  pro- 
tects a  special  interest  it  is  commonly  at  the  expense  of  the  gen- 
eral interest. 

II. 

Let  us  observe  the  most  vigorous  and  the  best-rooted  of  these 
bodies,  the  assembly  of  the  clergy.  It  meets  every  five  years, 
and,  during  the  interval,  two  agents  selected  by  it,  watch  over 
the  interests  of  the  order.  Convoked  by  the  government,  sub- 
ject to  its  guidance,  retained  or  dismissed  when  necessary,  al- 
ways in  its  hands,  used  by  it  for  political  ends,  it  nevertheless 
continues  to  be  a  refuge  for  the  clergy,  which  it  represents.  But 
it  is  an  asylum  solely  for  that  body  and,  in  the  series  of  transac- 
tions by  which  it  defends  itself  against  fiscal  demands,  it  eases  its 
own  shoulders  of  the  load  only  to  make  it  heavier  on  the  shoul- 
ders of  others.  We  have  seen  how  its  diplomacy  saved  clerical 
immunities,  how  it  bought  off  the  body  from  the  poll-tax  and  the 
vingtiernes,  how  it  converted  its  portion  of  taxation  into  a  "  free 
gift,"  how  this  gift  is  annually  applied  to  refunding  the  capital 
which  it  has  borrowed  to  obtain  this  exemption,  by  which  deli- 
cate art  it  succeeds,  not  only  in  not  contributing  to  the  treasury, 
but  in  withdrawing  from  it  every  year  about  1,500,000  livres,  all 
of  which  is  so  much  the  better  for  the  church  but  so  much  the 
worse  for  the  people. — Now  run  through  the  file  of  folios  in 
which  from  one  period  of  five  years  to  another  the  reports  of  its 
agents  follow  each  other, — so  many  clever  men  thus  preparing 
themselves  for  the  highest  positions  in  the  church,  the  abbe's  de 
Boisgelin,  de  Perigord,  de  Barral,  de  Montesquieu ;  at  each  mo- 
ment, owing  to  their  solicitations  with  judges  and  the  council, 
owing  to  the  authority,  which  the  discontent  of  the  powerful  or- 
6 


62  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  i 

der  felt  to  be  behind  them  gives  to  their  complaints,  some  ec- 
clesiastical matter  is  decided  in  an  ecclesiastical  sense;  some 
feudal  right  is  maintained  in  favor  of  a  chapter  or  of  a  bishop 
some  public  demand  is  thrown  out.1  In  1781,  notwithstanding 
decision  of  the  Parliament  of  Rennes,  the  canons  of  St.  Main 
are  sustained  in  their  monopoly  of  the  district  oven,  to  the  det- 
riment of  the  bakers  who  prefer  to  bake  at  their  own  domiciles 
as  well  as  of  the  inhabitants  who  would  have  to  pay  less  for  breao 
made  by  the  bakers  In  1773,  Gue'nin,  a  schoolmaster,  dis- 
charged by  the  bishop  of  Langres,  and  supported  in  vain  by  the 
inhabitants,  is  compelled  to  hand  his  place  over  to  a  successor 
appointed  by  the  bishop.  In  1770,  Rastel,  a  Protestant,  having 
opened  a  public  school  at  Saint-Affrique,  is  prosecuted  at  the  de- 
mand of  the  bishop  and  of  clerical  agents ;  his  school  is  closed 
and  he  is  imprisoned.  When  an  organized  body  keeps  the 
purse-strings  in  its  own  hands  it  secures  many  favors;  these  are 
the  equivalent  for  the  money  it  grants.  The  commanding  tone 
of  the  king  and  the  submissive  air  of  the  clergy  effect  no  funda- 
mental change ;  with  both  of  them  it  is  a  bargain,2  giving  and 
taking  on  both  sides,  this  or  that  law  against  the  Protestants 
going  for  one  or  two  millions  added  to  the  free  gift.  In  this 
way  the  revocation  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes  is  gradually  brought 
about,  article  by  article,  one  turn  of  the  rack  after  another  turn, 
each  fresh  persecution  purchased  by  a  fresh  largess,  the  clergy 
helping  the  State  on  condition  that  the  State  becomes  an  execu- 
tioner. Throughout  the  eighteenth  century  the  church  sees  that 
this  operation  continues.3  In  1717,  an  assemblage  of  seventy- 
four  persons  having  been  surprised  at  Andure  the  men  are  sent 
to  the  galleys  and  the  women  are  imprisoned.  In  1724,  an  edict 
declares  that  all  who  are  present  at  any  meeting,  or  who  shall 
have  any  intercourse,  direct  or  indirect,  with  preachers,  shall  be 
condemned  to  the  confiscation  of  their  property,  the  women  to 
have  their  heads  shaved  and  be  shut  up  for  life,  and  the  men  to  be 
sent  to  the  galleys  for  life.  In  1745  and  1746,  in  Dauphiny,  two 

1  "Rapport  de  1'agence  du  clerg£,"  fror.  1775  to  1780, pp.  31-34.  Ibid,  from  1780  to  1785. 
p.  237- 

1  Lanfrey,  "L'Eglise  et  les  philosophes,"  passim. 

*  Boitea\H  "Etat  de  la  France  en  1789,"  pp.  205,  207.  D'Argenson,  "Me'moires,"  May 
5,  1752,  pp.  3,  22;  September  25,  1753;  October  17,  '753,  and  October  26,  1775.  Prud- 
'homme,  "Resume  g£n£ral  des  cahiers  des  Etats-G6neraux,"  1789,  (Memorials  of  th« 
Clergy).  '  Histoire  des  6glises  du  de'sert,  '  par  Charles  Coquerel,  I.  151  and  those  following 


CHAP.  iv.  THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY.  63 

hundred  and  seventy-seven  Protestants  are  condemned  to  the 
galleys,  and  numbers  of  women  are  whipped.  Between  1744 
and  1752,  in  the  east  and  in  the  south,  six  hundred  Protestants 
are  imprisoned  and  eight  hundred  condemned  to  various  penal- 
ties. In  1774,  the  two  children  of  Roux,  a  Calvinist  of  Nimes, 
are  carried  off.  Up  to  nearly  the  beginning  of  the  Revolution, 
in  Languedoc,  ministers  are  hung,  while  dragoons  are  despatched 
against  congregations  assembled  to  worship  God  in  deserted 
places;  the  mother  of  M.  Guizot  here  received  shots  in  the 
skirts  of  her  dress ;  this  is  owing  to  the  fact  that,  in  Languedoc, 
through  the  provincial  States-Assembly  "  the  bishops  control  tem- 
poral affairs  more  than  elsewhere,  their  disposition  being  always 
to  dragoon  and  make  converts  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet." 
In  1775,  at  the  coronation  of  the  king,  archbishop  Lonemie  of 
Brienne,  a  well-known  unbeliever,  addresses  the  young  king: 
"  You  will  disapprove  of  the  culpable  systems  of  toleration.  .  .  . 
Complete  the  work  undertaken  by  Louis  the  Great.  To  you  is 
reserved  the  privilege  of  giving  the  final  blow  to  Calvinism  in 
your  kingdom."  In  1780,  the  assembly  of  the  clergy  declares 
"  that  the  altar  and  the  throne  would  equally  be  in  danger  if 
heresy  were  allowed  to  throw  off  its  shackles."  Even  in  1789, 
the  clergy  in  its  memorials,  while  consenting  to  the  toleration  of 
non-Catholics,  finds  the  edict  of  1788  too  liberal;  it  desires 
that  they  should  be  excluded  from  judicial  offices,  that  they 
should  never  be  allowed  to  worship  in  public,  and  that  mixed 
marriages  should  be  interdicted ;  and  much  more  than  this ;  they 
demand  preliminary  censure  of  all  works  issued  by  the  book- 
sellers, an  ecclesiastical  committee  to  act  as  informers,  and  igno- 
minious punishment  to  be  awarded  to  the  authors  of  irreligious 
books ;  and  lastly  they  claim  for  their  body  the  direction  of  pub- 
lic schools  and  the  oversight  of  private  schools.  There  is  noth- 
ing strange  in  this  intolerance  and  in  this  egoism.  A  collective 
body,  as  with  an  individual,  thinks  of  itself  first  of  all  and  above 
all.  If,  now  and  then,  it  sacrifices  some  one  of  its  privileges  it 
is  for  the  purpose  of  securing  the  alliance  of  some  other  b^dy. 
In  that  case,  which  is  that  of  England,  all  these  privileges,  which 
compound  with  each  other  and  afford  each  other  mutual  support, 
form,  through  their  combination,  the  public  liberties.  In  this 
case,  only  one  body  being  represented,  its  deputies  are  neither 
directed  nor  tempted  to  make  concession  to  others;  the  interest 


64  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  I 

of  the  body  is  their  sole  guide;  they  subordinate  the  common  in 
terest  to  it  and  serve  it  at  any  cost,  even  to  criminal  attacks  on 
the  public  welfare. 

III. 

Thus  do  public  bodies  work  when,  instead  of  being  associated 
together,  they  are  separate.  The  same  spectacle  is  apparent  on 
contemplating  castes  and  coteries;  their  isolation  is  the  cause 
of  their  egoism.  From  the  top  to  the  bottom  of  the  scale  the 
legal  and  moral  powers  which  should  represent  the  nation  repre- 
sent themselves  only,  while  each  one  is  busy  in  its  own  behalf  at 
the  expense  of  the  nation. — The  nobility,  in  default  of  the  right 
to  meet  together  and  to  vote,  exercises  its  influence,  and,  to 
know  how  it  uses  this,  it  is  sufficient  to  read  over  the  edicts  and 
the  Almanach.  A  regulation  imposed  on  Marshal  de  S6gur l  has 
just  restored  the  old  barrier  which  excluded  plebeians  from  mil- 
itary rank,  and  thenceforward,  to  be  a  captain,  it  is  necessary  to 
prove  four  degrees  of  nobility.  In  like  manner,  in  late  days, 
one  must  be  a  noble  to  be  a  master  of  requests,  and  it  is  secretly 
determined  that  in  future  "  all  ecclesiastical  property,  from  the 
humblest  priory  to  the  richest  abbeys,  shall  be  reserved  to  the 
nobility."  In  fact,  all  the  high  places,  ecclesiastic  or  laic,  are 
theirs;  all  the  sinecures,  ecclesiastic  or  laic,  are  theirs,  or  for 
their  relations,  adherents,  protege's,  and  servitors.  France  is 
like  a  vast  stable  in  which  the  blood-horses  obtain  double 
and  triple  rations  for  doing  nothing,  or  for  only  half-work, 
whilst  the  draft-horses  perform  full  service  on  half  a  ration  and 
that  often  not  supplied.  Again,  it  must  be  noted,  that  among 
these  blood-horses  is  a  privileged  set  which,  born  near  the  man- 
ger, keeps  its  fellows  away  and  feeds  bountifully,  fat,  shining, 
with  their  skins  polished,  and  up  to  their  bellies  in  litter,  and 
with  no  other  occupation  than  that  of  appropriating  everything 
to  themselves.  These  are  the  court  nobles,  who  live  within 
reach  of  favors,  brought  up  from  infancy  to  ask  for  them,  to  ob- 
tain and  to  ask  again,  solely  attentive  to  royal  condescension 
and  frowns,  for  whom  the  (Ell  de  bceuf  2  forms  the  universe,  "in- 

1  De  S£gur,  "M6moires,"  vol.  I.  pp.  -6  41.  De  Bouilte,  "M6moires,"  p.  54.  Mnae. 
Campan,  "  M6moires,"  v.  I.  p.  237,  proofs  i.i  detail. 

*  An  antechamber  in  the  palace  of  Versailles  in  which  there  was  a  round  or  bull's-ey« 
window,  where  courtiers  assembled  to  await  the  opening  of  the  tiuor  into  .he  king's  apar*- 
ajenL— TR. 


CHAP.  iv.  THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY.  65 

different  to  the  affairs  of  the  State  as  to  their  own  affairs,  allow- 
ing one  to  be  governed  by  provincial  intendants  as  they  allowed 
the  other  to  be  governed  by  their  own  intendants." 

Let  us  contemplate  them  at  work  on  the  budget.    We  know 
how  large  that  of  the  church  is ;  I  estimate  that  they  absorb  at 
least  one-half  of  it.     Nineteen  chapters  of  male  nobles,  twenty- 
five  chapters  of  female  nobles,  two  hundred  and  sixty  command- 
cries  of  Malta  belong  to  them  by  institution.     They  occupy,  by 
favor,  all  the  archbishoprics,  and,  except  five,  all  the  bishoprics.1 
They  furnish  three  out  of  four  abbes-commendatory  and  vicars- 
general.     If,  among  the  abbeys  of  females  royally  nominated,  we 
set  apart  those  bringing  in  twenty  thousand  livres  and  more,  we 
find  that  they  all  have  ladies  of  rank  for  abbesses.     One  fact 
alone  shows  the  extent  of  these  favors :  I  have  counted  eighty- 
three  abbeys  of  men  possessed  by  the  almoners,  chaplains,  pre- 
ceptors or  readers  to  the  king,  queen,  princes,  and  princesses; 
one  of  them,  the  abbe*  de  Vermont,  has  80,000  livres  income  in 
benefices.     In  short,  large  or  small,  the  fifteen  hundred  ecclesi- 
astical sinecures  under  royal  appointment  constitute  a  currency 
for  the  service  of  the  great,  whether  they  pour  it  out  in  golden 
rain  to  recompense  the  assiduity  of  their  intimates  and  followers, 
or  keep  it  in  large  reservoirs  to  maintain  the  dignity  of  their 
rank.     Besides,  according  to  the  fashion  of  giving  more  to  those 
who  have  already  enough,  the  richest  prelates  possess,  above 
their  episcopal  revenues,  the  wealthiest  abbeys.     According  to 
the  Almanach.  M.  d'Argentre",  bishop  of  Seez,2  thus  enjoys  an 
extra  income  of  34,000  livres ;  M.  de  Suffren,  bishop  of  Sisteron, 
36,000;  M.  de  Girac,  bishop  of  Rennes,  40,000;  M.  de  Bour- 
deille,  bishop  of  Soissons,  42,000 ;  M.  d'Agout  de  Bonneval, 
bishop  of  Pamiers,  45,000 ;  M.  de  Marbceuf,  bishop  of  Autun, 
50,000;  M.  de  Rohan,  bishop  of  Strasbourg,  60,000;   M.  de 
Clce",  archbishop  of  Bordeaux,  63,000;  M.  de  Luynes,  arch- 
bishop of   Sens,  82,000;    M.    de  Bernis,  archbishop   of  Alby, 
100,000;  M.  de  Brienne,  archbishop  of  Toulouse,  106,000;  M. 
de  Dillon,  archbishop  of  Narbonne,  120,000;  M.  de  Laroche- 
foucauld,  archbishop  of  Rouen,  130,000,  that  is  to  say,  double 
and  sometimes  triple  the  sums  stated,  and  quadruple,  and  often 
six  times  as  much,  according  to  the  present  standard.     M.  de 

1  "La  France  eccl&iastique,"  1788. 
*  Gianisr  de  Cassagnac,  "Des  causes  de  la  ReVolutlor  Francalse,"  III  58. 

6* 


66  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  i, 

Rohan  derived  from  his  abbeys  not  60,000  livres  but  400,000, 
and  M.  de  Brienne,  the  most  opulent  of  H,  next  to  M.  de  Ro- 
han, the  24th  of  August,  1788,  at  the  time  of  leaving  the  min- 
istry,1 sent  to  withdraw  from  the  treasury,  "  the  20,000  livres  of 
His  month's  salary  which  had  not  yet  fallen  due,  a  punctuality 
•he  more  remarkable  that,  without  taking  into  account  the 
salary  of  his  place,  with  the  6,000  livres  pension  attached  to  his 
blue  ribbon,  he  possessed,  in  benefices,  678,000  livres  income 
and  that,  still  quite  recently,  a  cutting  of  wood  on  one  of  his 
abbey  domains  yielded  him  a  million." 

Let  us  pass  on  to  the  lay  budget ;  here  also  are  prolific  sine- 
cures, and  almost  all  belong  to  the  nobles.  Of  this  class  there 
are  in  the  provinces  the  thirty-seven  great  governments-general, 
the  seven  small  governments-general,  the  sixty-six  lieutenancies- 
general,  the  four  hundred  and  seven  special  governments,  the 
thirteen  governorships  of  royal  palaces,  and  a  number  of  others, 
all  of  them  for  ostentation  and  empty  honors,  all  in  the  hands  of 
the  nobles,  all  lucrative,  not  only  through  salaries  paid  by  the 
treasury,  but  also  through  local  profits.  Here,  again,  the  nobility 
allowed  itself  to  evade  the  authority,  the  activity  and  the  useful- 
ness of  its  charge  on  the  condition  of  retaining  its  title,  pomp 
and  money.2  The  intendant  is  really  the  governor;  "the  titu- 
lar governor  exercising  a  function  with  special  letters  of  com- 
mand," is  only  there  to  give  dinners ;  and  again  he  must  have 
permission  to  do  that,  "the  permission  to  go  and  reside  at  his 
place  of  government."  The  place,  however,  yields  fruit:  the 
government-general  of  Berry  is  worth  35,000  livres  income,  that 
of  Guyenne  120,000,  that  of  Languedoc  160,000 ;  a  small  special 
government,  like  that  of  Havre,  brings  in  35,000  livres,  besides 
the  accessories ;  a  medium  lieutenancy-general,  like  that  of  Rous- 

J  Marmontel,  "  Me'moires,"  v.  II.  book  xiii.  p.  221. 

1  Boiteau,  "  Etat  de  la  France  en  1789,  '  pp.  55,  248.  D'Argenson,  "  Considerations  sut 
1«  gouvernement  de  la  France,"  p.  177.  De  Luynis,  "Journal,"  XIII.  226,  XIV.  287, 
XIII.  33,  158,  i6a,  118,  233,  237,  XV.  268,  XVI.  304.  The  government  of  Ham  is  wortli 
11,250  livres,  That  of  Auxerre  12,000,  that  of  Brianjon  12,000,  that  of  the  islands  of  Ste. 
Marguerite  16000,  that  of  Schelestadt  15,000,  that  of  Brisach  from  15  to  16,000,  that  of 
Grarelines  18,000.  The  ordinance  of  1776  had  reduced  these  various  places  as  follows: 
(Warroquier,  II.  467).  18  general  governments  to  60,000  livres,  21  to  30,000;  114  special 
governments;  25  to  12,000  livres,  25  to  10,000  and  64  to  8,000;  176  lieutenants  and  com- 
mandants of  towns,  places,  etc.,  of  which  35  were  reduced  to  16,600  and  141  from  a,ooo  to 
6,000.  The  ordinance  of  1788  established,  besides  these,  17  commands  in  chief  with  from 
20,000  to  30,000  livres  fixed  salary  and  from  4,000  to  6,000  a  month  for  residence,  and  com- 
mands of  a  secondary  grade. 


CHAP.  iv.  THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY.  67 

sillon,  13,000  to  14,000  livres;  one  special  government  from 
12,000  to  18,000  livres;  and  observe  that,  in  the  Isle  of  France 
alone,  there  are  thirty-four,  at  Vervins,  Senlis,  Melun,  Fcntaine- 
bleau,  Dourdan,  Sens,  Limours,  Etampes,  Dreux,  Houdan  and 
other  towns  as  insignificant  as  they  are  pacific;  it  is  the  staff  of 
the  Valois  dynasty  which,  since  the  time  of  Richelieu,  has  ceased 
to  perform  any  service,  but  which  the  treasury  continues  to  pay. 
Consider  these  sinecures  in  one  province  alone,  in  Languedoc, 
a  country  of  provincial  assemblies — where  it  seems  as  if  the  tax  • 
payer's  purse  ought  to  be  better  protected.  There  are  three 
sub-commandants  at  Tournon,  Alais,  and  Montpelier,  "  each  one 
paid  16,000  livres,  although  without  any  functions  since  their 
places  were  established  at  the  time  of  the  religious  wars  and 
troubles,  to  keep  down  the  Protestants."  Twelve  royal  lieuten 
ants  are  equally  useless,  and  only  for  parade.  The  same  with 
three  lieutenants-general,  each  one  "  receiving  in  his  turn,  every 
three  years,  a  gratuity  of  30,000  livres,  for  services  rendered  in 
that  said  province,  which  are  vain  and  chimerical,  and  which  are 
not  specified ; "  because  none  of  them  reside  there,  and  if  they 
are  paid,  it  is  to  secure  their  support  at  the  court.  "  Thus  the 
Comte  de  Caraman,  who  has  more  than  600,000  livres  income 
as  proprietor  of  the  Languedoc  canal,  receives  30,000  livres 
every  three  years,  without  legitimate  cause,  and  independently 
of  frequent  and  ample  gifts  which  the  province  awards  to  him 
for  repairs  on  his  canal."  The  province  likewise  gives  to  tht 
commandant,  Comte  de  Pe'rigord,  a  gratuity  of  12,000  livres  in 
addition  to  his  salary,  and  to  his  wife  another  gratuity  of  12,000 
livres  on  her  honoring  the  states  for  the  first  time  with  her  pres- 
ence. It  again  pays,  for  the  same  commandant,  forty  guards, 
"  of  which  twenty-four  only  serve  during  his  short  appearance  at 
the  Assembly,"  and  who,  with  their  captain,  annually  cost  15,000 
livres.  It  pays  likewise  for  the  Governor  from  eighty  to  one 
hundred  guards, "  who  each  receive  300  or  400  livres,  besides  many 
exemptions,  and  who  are  never  on  service,  since  the  Governor  is 
a  non-resident."  The  expense  of  these  lazy  subalterns  is  about 
24,000  livres,  besides  5,000  to  6,000  for  their  captain,  to  which 
must  be  added  7,500  for  gubernatorial  secretaries,  besides  60,000 
livres  salaries,  and  untold  profits  for  the  Governor  himself.  I 
find  everywhere  secondary  idlers  swarming  in  the  shadow  of 
idlers  in  chief,  and  deriving  their  vigor  f  om  the  public  purs* 


68  THE  ANt'lENT  REGIME.  BOOK  i 

which  is  the  common  nurse  All  these  people  parade  and 
drink  and  eat  copiously,  in  grand  style:  it  is  their  principal 
service,  and  they  attend  to  it  conscientious^.  The  sessions 
of  the  Assembly  are  junketings  of  six  weeks'  duration,  in  which 
the  intendant  expends  25,000  livres  in  dinners  and  receptions.1 

Equally  lucrative  and  useless  are  the  court  offices 2 — so  many 
domestic  sinecures,  the  profits  and  accessories  of  which  largely 
exceed  the  emoluments.  I  find  in  the  printed  register  295 
cooks,  without  counting  the  table-waiters  of  the  king  and  his 
people,  while  "the  head  butler  obtains  84,000  livres  a  year  in 
billets  and  supplies,"  without  counting  his  salary  and  the  "grand 
liveries  "  which  he  receives  in  money.  The  head  chambermaids 
to  the  queen,  inscribed  in  the  Almanach  for  150  livres  and  paid 
12,000  francs,  make  in  reality  50,000  francs  by  the  sale  of  the 
candles  lighted  during  the  day.  Augeard,  private  secretary,  and 
whose  place  is  set  down  at  900  livres  a  year,  confesses  that  it  is 
worth  to  him  200,000.  The  head  huntsman  at  Fontainebleau 
sells  for  his  own  benefit  each  year  20,000  francs  worth  of 
rabbits.  "  On  each  journey  to  the  king's  country  residences  the 
ladies  of  the  bedchamber  gain  eighty  per  cent,  on  the  expenses 
of  moving ;  it  is  said  that  the  coffee  and  bread  for  each  of  these 
ladies  costs  2,000  francs  a  year,  and  so  on  with  other  things." 
"Mme.  de  Tallard  made  115,000  livres  income  out  of  her  place 
of  governess  to  the  children  of  France,  because  her  salary  was 
increased  35,000  livres  for  each  child."  The  Due  de  Penthievre, 
as  grand  admiral,  received  an  anchorage  due  on  all  vessels  "  en- 
tering the  ports  and  rivers  of  France,"  which  produced  annually 
91,484  francs.  Mme.  de  Lamballe,  superintendent  of  the 
queen's  household,  inscribed  for  6,000  francs,  gets  150,000.* 
The  Due  de  Gevres  gets  50,000  crowns  by  one  piece  of  fire- 
works out  of  the  fragments  and  scaffolding  which  belong  to  him 
by  virtue  of  his  office.4 — Grand  officers  of  the  palace,  governors 

1  Archives  nationales,  H,  944,  April  25,  and  September  20,  1786.      Letters  and  Memoirs 
of  Furgole,  advocate  at  Toulouse, 

*  Archives  nationales,  O,  738  (Reports  made  to  the  bureau-general  of  the  king's  house- 
hold,  March,  1780,  by   M.   Mesnard  de  Chousy).     Augeaixl,      W  ess-ires,"   97.      Mme. 
Campan,  "Me'moires,"  I.  291.     D'Argenson,  "Memoires,"  February  *o,  ..December  9,  1751, 
"Essai  sur  les  Capitaineries  royales  et  autres"  (1789),  p.  80.      Wirroquier,  "Etat  de  la 
France  en  1789,"  I.  266. 

'  "Marie  Antoinette,"  by  D'Ameth  and  Geffroy,  II.  377. 

•  Mme.  Campan,  "  Me'moires,*   I.  296,  298,  300,  301 ;  III.  78.     Hippeau,  "  Le  Gouveme- 
ment  de  Nonnandie,"   IV.   171   (Letter  from   Paris,  December  13,    1780).      D'Argenson, 
"  Memoires,"  September  5,  1755.     Bachaumont,  January  19,  1758.     "Memoire  sur  1'impo- 
sidon  territoriale,"  by  M.  de  Calonne  (1787),  p.  54. 


CHAP.  iv.  THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY.  69 

of  royal  establishments,  captains  of  captainries,  chamberlains, 
equerries,  gentlemen  in  waiting,  gentlemen  in  ordinary,  pages, 
governors,  almoners,  chaplains,  ladies  of  honor,  ladies  of  the  bed 
chamber,  ladies  in  waiting  on  the  King,  the  Queen,  on  Monsieur, 
on  Madame,  on  the  Comte  D'Artois,  on  the  Comtesse  D'Artois, 
on  Mesdames,  on  Madame  Royale,  on  Madame  Elisabeth,  in  each 
princely  establishment  and  elsewhere — hundreds  of  places  pro- 
vided with  salaries  and  accessories  are  without  any  service  to  per- 
form, or  simply  answer  a  decorative  purpose.  "  Mme.  de  Laborde 
has  just  been  appointed  keeper  of  the  queen's  bed,  with  12,000 
francs  pension  out  of  the  king's  privy  purse ;  nothing  is  known  of 
the  duties  of  this  position,  as  there  has  been  no  place  of  this  kind 
since  Anne  of  Austria."  The  eldest  son  of  M.  de  Machault  is 
appointed  intendant  of  the  classes.  "  This  is  one  of  the  employ- 
ments called  complimentary :  it  is  worth  18,000  livres  income  to 
sign  one's  name  twice  a  year."  And  likewise  with  the  post  of 
secretary-general  of  the  Swiss  guards,  worth  30,000  livres  a  year 
and  assigned  to  the  Abbe  Barthelemy;  and  the  same  with  the 
post  of  secretary-general  of  the  dragoons,  worth  20,000  livres  a 
year,  held  in  turn  by  Gentil  Bernard  and  by  Laujon,  two  small 
pocket  poets. — It  would  be  simpler  to  give  the  money  without  the 
place.  There  is  indeed  no  end  to  them.  On  reading  various 
memoirs  day  after  day  it  seems  as  if  the  treasury  was  open  to 
plunder.  The  courtiers,  unremitting  in  their  attentions  to  the 
king,  force  him  to  sympathize  with  their  troubles.  They  are  his 
intimates,  the  guests  of  his  drawing-room;  men  of  the  same 
stamp  as  himself,  his  natural  clients,  the  only  ones  with  whom  he 
can  converse,  and  whom  it  is  necessary  to  make  contented ;  he 
cannot  avoid  helping  them.  He  must  necessarily  contribute  to 
the  dowries  of  their  children  since  he  has  signed  their  marriage 
contracts ;  he  must  necessarily  enrich  them  since  their  profusion 
serves  for  the  embellishment  of  his  court.  Nobility  being  one  of 
the  glories  of  the  throne,  the  occupant  of  the  throne  is  obliged  to 
regild  it  as  often  as  is  necessary.1  In  this  connection  a  few 
Sgures  and  anecdotes  among  a  thousand  speak  most  eloquently.8 

1  D'Argenson,  "M^moires,"  December  9,  1751.     "The  expense  to  courtiers  of  two  new 
and  magnificent  coats,  each  for  two  f£te  days,  ordered  by  the  king,  completely  ruins  them." 

2  DC  Luynes,  "Journal,"  XIV.  pp.   147-295,  XV.  36,  119.     D'Argenson,  "  Me'moirea," 
April  8,  1752,  March  30  and  July  28,  1753,  July  2, 1735,  June  23,  1756.     Hippeau,  ibid.  .V. 
p.  153  (Letter  of  May  15,  1730).    Necker,  "De  1' Administration  des  Financ  «,"  II.  pp.  *6j 
169,  270,  271,  228.     Augeard,  "Mlmoires,"  p.  249. 


70  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  I. 

The  Prince  de  Pons,  had  a  pension  of  25,000  livres,  out  of  the 
king's  bounty  on  which  his  Majesty  was  pleased  to  give  6,000 
to  Mme.  de  Marsan,  his  daughter,  Canoness  of  Remiremont. 
The  family  represented  to  the  king  the  bad  state  of  the  Prince  de 
Pons's  affairs,  and  his  Majesty  was  pleased  to  grant  to  his  son, 
Prince  Camille,  15,000  livres  of  the  pension  vacated  by  the  death 
of  his  father,  and  5,000  livres  increase  to  Mme.  de  Marsan.  M. 
de  Conflans  espouses  Mile.  Portail.  "  In  honor  of  this  marriage 
the  king  was  pleased  to  order  that  out  of  the  pension  of  10,000 
livres  granted  to  Mme.  la  Presidente  Portail,  6,000  of  it  should 
pass  to  M.  de  Conflans  after  the  death  of  Mme.  Portail."  M.  de 
S6chelles,  a  retiring  minister,  had  12,000  livres  in  an  old  pension 
which  the  king  continued ;  he  has,  besides  this,  20,000  livres  pen- 
sion as  minister ;  and  the  king  gives  him  in  addition  to  all  this  a 
pension  of  40,000  livres.  The  motives  which  prompt  these 
favors  are  often  remarkable.  M.  de  Rouille"  has  to  be  consoled 
for  not  having  participated  in  the  treaty  of  Vienna ;  this  explains 
why  "  a  pension  of  6,000  livres  is  given  to  his  niece,  Mme.  de  Cas- 
tellane,  and  another  of  10,000  to  his  daughter,  Mme.  de  Beuvron, 
who  is  very  rich."  "M.  de  Puisieux  enjoys  about  76,000  or 
77,000  livres  income  from  the  bounty  of  the  king;  it  is  true  that 
he  has  considerable  property,  but  the  revenue  of  this  property  is 
uncertain,  being  for  the  most  part  in  vines."  "A  pension  of 
ro,ooo  livres  has  just  been  awarded  to  the  Marquise  de  Lede  be- 
cause she  is  disagreeable  to  Mme.  Infante,  and  to  secure  her 
resignation."  The  most  opulent  stretch  out  their  hands  and  take 
accordingly.  "It  is  estimated  that  last  week  128,000  livres  in 
pensions  were  bestowed  on  ladies  of  the  court,  while  for  the  past 
two  years  the  officers  have  not  received  the  slightest  pension : 
eight  thousand  livres  to  the  Duchesse  de  Chevreuse,  whose  hus- 
band has  an  income  of  500,000  livres;  12,000  livres  to  Mme.  de 
Luynes,  that  she  may  not  be  jealous;  10,000  to  the  Duchesse  de 
Brancas;  10,000  to  the  dowager  Duchesse  de  Brancas,  mother 
of  the  preceding,"  etc.  At  the  head  of  these  leeches  come  the 
princes  of  the  blood.  "The  king  has  just  given  1,500,000  livres 
to  M.  le  Prince  de  Conti  to  pay  his  debts,  1,000,000  of  which  is 
under  the  pretext  of  indemnifying  him  for  the  injury  done  him  by 
the  sale  of  Orange,  and  500,000  livres  as  a  gratuity."  "The  Due 
d'Orl£ans  formerly  had  50,000  crowns  pension,  as  a  poor  man, 
and  awaiting  his  father's  inheritance.  This  event  making  him 


CHAP.  iv.  THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY.  Jl 

rich,  with  an  income  of  more  than  3,000,000  livres,  he  gave  up 
his  pension.  But  having  since  represented  to  the  king  that  his 
expenditure  exceeded  his  income,  the  king  gave  him  back  his 
50,000  crowns."  Twenty  years  later,  in  1780,  when  Louis  XVI., 
desirous  of  relieving  the  treasury,  signs  "  the  great  reformation  of 
the  table,  600,000  livres  are  given  to  Mesdames  for  their  tables." 
This  is  what  the  dinners,  cut  down,  of  three  old  ladies,  cost  the 
public!  For  the  king's  two  brothers,  8,300,000  livres,  besides 
2,000,000  income  in  appanages;  for  the  Dauphin,  Madame 
Royale,  Madame  Elisabeth,  and  Mesdames  3,500,000  livres;  for 
the  queen,  4,000,000; — such  is  the  statement  of  Necker  in  1784. 
Add  to  this  the  casual  donations,  admitted  or  concealed;  200,000 
francs  to  M.  de  Sartines,  to  aid  him  in  paying  his  debts;  200,000 
to  M.  Lamoignon,  keeper  of  the  seals;  100,000  to  M.  de 
Miromesnil  for  expenses  in  establishing  himself;  166,000  to  the 
widow  of  M.  de  Maurepas;  400,000  to  the  Prince  de  Salm; 
1,200,000  to  the  Due  de  Polignac  for  the  pledge  on  the  county 
of  Fenestranges ;  754,337  to  Mesdames  to  pay  for  Bellevue.1 
"M.  de  Calonne,"  says  Augeard,  a  reliable  witness,2  "scarcely  en- 
tered on  his  duties,  raised  a  loan  of  100,000,000  livres,  one-quar- 
ter of  which  did  not  find  its  way  into  the  royal  treasury ;  the  rest 
was  eaten  up  by  people  at  the  court ;  his  donations  to  the  Comte 
d'Artois  are  estimated  at  56,000,000 ;  the  portion  of  Monsieur  is 
25,000,000;  he  gave  to  the  Prince  de  Cond6,  in  exchange  for 
300,000  livres  income,  12,000,000  paid  down  and  600,000  livres 
annuity,  and  he  causes  the  most  burdensome  acquisition  to  be 
made  for  the  State,  in  exchanges  of  which  the  damage  is  more 
than  five  to  one."  We  must  not  forget  that  in  actual  rates  all 
these  donations,  pensions,  and  salaries  are  worth  double  the 
amount. 

Such  is  the  use  of  the  great  in  relation  to  the  central  power ; 

1  Ntcolardot,  "  Journal  de  Louis  XVI.,"  p.  228.  Appropriations  in  the  Red  Book  of  1774 
to  1789:  227,985,716  livres,  of  which  80,000,000  are  in  acquisitions  and  gifts  to  the  royal 
family.  Among  others  there  are  14,600,000  to  the  Comte  d'Artois  and  14,450,000  to  Mon- 
sieur; 7,726,253  are  given  to  the  Queen  for  Saint-Cloud ;  8,700,000  for  the  acquisidon  of  Ile- 
Adain. 

*  Cf.  "  Compte  g^n^ral  des  revenus  et  de'penses  fixes  au  icr  Mai,  1789  "  (Imprimerie  roy- 
ale,  1789,  In  4).  Estate  of  Ile-Dieu,  acquired  in  1783  of  the  Due  de  Mortemart,  1,000,000; 
estate  of  Viviers,  acquired  of  the  Prince  de  Soubise  in  1784,  1,500,000;  estates  of  St  Priest 
and  of  St.  Etienne,  acquired  in  1787  of  M.  Gilbert  das  Voisius,  1,335,935;  the  forests  of 
Camors  and  of  Floranges,  acquired  of  the  Due  de  Liancourt  in  1785,  1,300,000;  fie  county 
•f  Montgommery,  acquired  of  M.  Clement  de  Basville  in  1785,  3,306,604. 


72  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BCO» 

instead  of  constituting  themselves  representatives  of  the  peopl*, 
they  aimed  to  be  the  favorites  of  the  sovereign,  and  they  shear 
the  flock  which  they  ought  to  preserve. 

IV. 

The  excoriated  flock  is  to  discover  finally  what  is  done  with 
its  wool.  "Sooner  or  later,"  says  a  parliament  of  1764^  "the 
people  will  learn  that  the  remnants  of  our  finances  continue  to 
be  wasted  in  donations  which  are  frequently  undeserved ;  in  ex- 
cessive and  multiplied  pensions  for  the  same  persons ;  in  dow- 
ries and  promises  of  dowry,  and  in  useless  offices  and  salaries." 
Sooner  or  later  they  will  thrust  back  "  these  greedy  hands  which 
are  always  open  and  never  full;  that  insatiable  crowd  which 
seems  to  be  born  only  to  seize  all  and  possess  nothing,  and  as 
pitiless  as  it  is  shameless."  And  when  this  day  arrives  the  ex- 
tortioners will  find  that  they  stand  alone.  For  the  characteristic 
of  an  aristocracy  which  cares  only  for  itself  is  to  lapse  into  a  co- 
terie. Having  forgotten  the  public,  it  additionally  neglects  its 
subordinates ;  after  being  separated  from  the  nation  it  separates 
itself  from  its  own  adherents.  It  is  a  set  of  staff-officers  on  fur- 
lough, indulging  in  sports  without  giving  themselves  further  con- 
cern about  inferior  officers ;  when  the  hour  of  battle  comes  no- 
body will  march  under  their  orders,  and  chieftains  are  sought 
elsewhere.  Such  is  the  isolation  of  the  seigniors  of  the  court, 
and  of  the  prelates  among  the  lower  grades  of  the  nobility  and 
the  clergy ;  they  appropriate  to  themselves  too  large  a  share,  and 
give  nothing,  or  almost  nothing,  to  the  people  who  are  not  of 
their  society.  For  a  century  a  steady  murmur  against  them  is 
rising,  and  goes  on  expanding  until  it  becomes  an  uproar,  in 
which  the  old  and  the  new  spirit,  feudal  ideas  and  philosophic 
ideas,  threaten  in  unison.  "  I  see,"  said  the  bailly  of  Mirabeau,* 
"that  the  nobility  is  demeaning  itself  and  becoming  a  wreck. 
It  is  extended  to  all  those  children  of  bloodsuckers,  the  vaga- 
bonds of  finance,  introduced  by  La  Pompadour,  herself  the  off- 

'•  "  Le  President  des  Brosses,"  by  Foisset  (Remonstrances  to  the  king  by  the  Parliament 
D£  Dijon,  Jan.  19,  1764). 

'Lucas  de  Mondgny,  "M6moires  de  Mirabeau."  Letter  of  the  bailly,  May  26,  1781. 
D'Argenson,  "  Me'moires,"  IV.  156,  157,  160,  76;  VI.  p.  320.  Marshal  Marmont,  "MA- 
moires,"  I.  9.  De  Ferrieres,  "  Memoires,"  preface.  See,  on  the  difficulty  in  succeeding, 
the  Memoirs  of  Dumourier.  Chateaubriand's  father  is  likewise  one  of  the  discontented,  "» 
political  frnnrtfiir,  and  very  inimical  to  the  court  '  (I,  206).  Records  of  the  Stales-General 
»f  1789,  a  general  summary  by  Prud'homme  1 1  frissim. 


CHAP.  IV  THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY.  73 

spring  of  this  foulness.  One  portion  of  it  demeans  itself  in  its 
servility  to  the  court;  the  other  portion  is  amalgamated  with 
that  quill-driving  rabble  who  are  converting  the  blood  of  the 
king's  subjects  into  ink;  another  perishes  stifled  beneath  vile 
robes,  the  ignoble  atoms  of  cabinet-dust  which  an  office  drags  up 
out  of  the  mire ; "  and  all,  parvenues  of  ancient  or  of  the  new 
race,  form  a  band  called  the  court.  "The  court!"  exclaims 
D:Argenson.  "The  entire  evil  is  found  in  this  word.  The 
court  has  become  the  senate  of  the  nation;  the  least  of  the 
ralets  at  Versailles  is  a  senator ;  chambermaids  take  part  in  the 
government,  if  not  to  legislate,  at  least  to  impede  laws  and  reg- 
ulations ;  and  by  dint  of  hindrance  there  are  no  longer  either 
laws,  or  rules,  or  law-makers.  .  .  .  Under  Henry  IV.  courtiers 
remained  each  one  at  home ;  they  had  not  entered  into  ruinous 
expenditure  to  belong  to  the  court ;  favors  were  not  thus  due  to 
them  as  at  the  present  day.  .  .  .  The  court  is  the  sepulchre  of 
the  nation."  Many  noble  officers,  finding  that  high  grades  are 
only  for  courtiers,  abandon  the  service,  and  betake  themselves 
with  their  discontent  to  their  estates.  Others,  who  have  not  left 
their  domains,  brood  there  in  discomfort,  idleness,  and  ennui, 
theL  ambition  embittered  by  their  powerlessness.  In  1789,  said 
the  Marquis  de  Ferrieres,  most  of  them  "  are  so  weary  of  the 
court  and  of  the  ministers  they  are  almost  democrats."  At  least, 
"they  want  to  withdraw  the  government  from  the  ministerial 
oligarchy  in  whose  hands  it  is  concentrated ; "  there  are  no  grand 
seigniors  for  deputies ;  they  set  them  aside  and  "absolutely  reject 
them,  saying  that  they  would  traffic  with  the  interests  of  the 
nobles ; "  they  themselves,  in  their  memorials,  insist  that  there 
be  no  more  court  nobility. 

The  same  sentiments  prevail  among  the  lower  clergy,  and  still 
more  actively ;  for  they  are  excluded  from  the  high  offices,  not 
only  as  inferiors,  but  again  as  plebeian.1  Already,  in  1766,  the 
Marquis  de  Mirabeau  writes :  "  It  would  be  an  insult  to  most  of 
our  pretentious  ecclesiastics  to  offer  them  a  curacy.  Revenues 
and  honors  are  for  the  abbeVcommendatory,  for  tonsured  bene- 
ficiaries not  in  orders,  for  the  numerous  chapters."  On  the 
contrary,  "the  true  pastors  of  souls,  the  collaborators  in  the 

1  "Ephem£rides  du  citoyen,"  II.  202,  203.  Voltaire,  "  Dictionnaire  philosophique," 
trticle  "Cur£  de  Campagne."  Abbe  GuettSe,  "Histoire  de  1'Eglise  de  France,"  XII.  130 


74  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  i 

holy  ministry,  scarcely  obtain  a  subsistence."  The  first  class 
"drawn  from  the  nobility  and  from  the  best  of  the  bourgeoisie 
have  pretensions  only,  without  being  of  the  true  ministry.  The 
other,  only  having  duties  to  fulfil  without  expectations  and 
almost  without  income  .  .  .  can  be  recruited  only  from  the 
lowest  ranks  of  civil  society,"  while  the  parasites  who  despoil 
the  laborers  "affect  to  subjugate  them  and  to  degrade  them 
more  and  more."  "I  pity,"  said  Voltaire,  "the  lot  of  a  countiy 
curate,  obliged  to  contend  for  a  sheaf  of  wheat  with  his  un- 
fortunate parishioner,  to  plead  against  him,  to  exact  the  tithe  of 
peas  and  lentils,  to  waste  his  miserable  existence  in  constant 
strife.  ...  I  pity  still  more  the  curate  with  a  fixed  allowance  to 
whom  monks,  called  gros  dedmateursf  dare  offer  a  salary  of  forty 
ducats,  to  go  about  during  the  year,  two  or  three  miles  from  his 
home,  day  and  night,  in  sunshine  and  in  rain,  in  the  snow  and 
in  the  ice,  exercising  the  most  trying  and  most  disagreeable 
functions."  Attempts  are  made  for  thirty  years  to  secure  them 
salaries  and  raise  them  a  little ;  in  case  of  their  inadequacy  the 
beneficiary,  collator  or  tithe-owner  of  the  parish  is  required 
to  add  to  them  until  the  curate  obtains  500  livres  (1768),  then 
700  livres  (1785),  the  vicar  200  livres  (1768),  then  250  (1778), 
and  finally  350  (1785).  Strictly,  at  the  prices  at  which  things 
are,  a  man  may  support  himself  on  that.2  But  he  must  live 
among  the  destitute  to  whom  he  owes  alms,  and  he  cherishes  at 
the  bottom  of  his  heart  a  secret  bitterness  towards  the  indolent 
Dives  who,  with  full  pockets,  despatches  him,  with  empty 
pockets,  on  a  mission  of  charity.  At  Saint- Pierre  de  Barjouville, 
in  the  Toulousain,  the  archbishop  of  Toulouse  appropriates  to 
himself  one-half  of  the  tithes  and  gives  away  eight  livres  a  year 
in  alms;  at  Bretx,  the  chapter  of  Isle  Jourdain,  which  retains 
one-half  of  certain  tithes  and  three-quarters  of  others,  gives  ten 
livres ;  at  Croix  Falgarde,  the  Benedictines,  to  whom  a  half  of 
the  tithes  belong,  give  ten  livres  per  annum.3  At  Sainte-Croix 
de  Bernay  in  Normandy,4  the  non-resident  abbe",  who  receives 

1  Those  entitled  to  tithes  in  cereals. — TR. 

*  A  curate's  salary  at  the  present  day  is,  at  the  minimum,  900  francs  with  a  house  and 
perquisites. 

3  Theron  de  Montaug6,  " L' agriculture  et  les  classes  rurales  dans  le  pays  Toulousain," 
p.  86. 

4  Perin,  "la  Jc.messe  de  Robespierre,"  complaints  of  the  rural  parishes  of  Artois,  p.  3*0 
Boivin-Champeaux,  ibid.  pp.  65,  68.     Hippeau,  ibid.  VI.  p.  79  et  VII.  177.     Lettw  flf  M 


CHAP.  IV.  THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY.  75 

57,000  livres  gives  1,050  livres  to  the  curate  without  a  parson- 
age and  whose  parish  contains  1,000  communicants.  At  Saint- 
Aubin-sur-Gaillon,  the  abbe",  a  gros  decimateur,  gives  350  livres  to 
the  vicar  who  is  obliged  to  go  into  the  village  and  obtain  con- 
tributions of  flour,  bread  ind  apples.  At  Plessis  Hebert,  "the 
substitute  deportuaire?  not  having  enough  to  live  on  is  obliged  to 
get  his  meals  in  the  houses  of  neighboring  curates."  In  Artois, 
where  the  tithes  are  often  seven  and  a  half  and  eight  per  cent,  on 
the  product  of  the  soil,  a  number  of  curates  have  a  fixed  rate 
and  no  parsonage ;  their  church  goes  to  ruin  and  the  beneficiary 
gives  nothing  to  the  poor.  "At  Saint- Laurent,  in  Normandy, 
the  curacy  is  worth  not  more  than  400  livres,  which  the  curate 
shares  with  an  obitier?  and  there  are  500  inhabitants,  three- 
quarters  of  whom  receive  alms."  As  the  repairs  on  a  parsonage 
or  on  a  church  are  usually  at  the  expense  of  a  seignior  or  of 
a  beneficiary  often  far  off,  and  in  debt  or  indifferent,  it  sometimes 
happens  that  the  priest  does  not  know  where  to  lodge  nor  to  say 
mass.  "  I  arrived,"  says  a  curate  of  the  Touraine,  "  in  the  month 
of  June,  1788.  .  .  .  The  parsonage  would  resemble  a  hideous 
cave  were  it  not  open  to  all  the  winds  and  the  frosts;  below 
there  are  two  rooms  with  stone  floors,  without  doors  or  windows, 
and  five  feet  high ;  a  third  room  six  feet  high,  paved  with  stone, 
serving  as  parlor,  hall,  kitchen,  wash-house,  bakery  and  sink  for 
the  water  of  the  court  and  garden;  above  are  three  similar 
rooms,  the  whole  cracking  and  tumbling  in  ruins,  absolutely 
threatening  to  fall,  without  either  doors  and  windows  that  hold," 
and.  in  1790,  the  repairs  are  not  yet  made.  See  by  way  of  con- 
trast the  luxury  of  the  prelates  possessing  half  a  million  income, 
the  pomp  of  their  palaces,  the  hunting  equipment  of  M.  de 
Dillon,  bishop  of  Evreux,  the  confessionals  lined  with  satin  of 
M.  de  Barral,  bishop  of  Troyes,  and  the  innumerable  culinary 
utensils  in  massive  silver  of  M.  de  Rohan,  bishop  of  Strasbourg. 
Such  is  the  lot  of  curates  at  the  established  rates,  and  there 
are  "a  great  many"  who  do  not  get  the  established  rates,  withheld 
from  them  through  the  ill-will  of  the  higher  clergy :  who,  with 

Sergent  curate  of  Vallers,  January  27,  1790.  (Archives  nationales,  DXIX.  portfolio  24.) 
Letter  of  M.  Briscard,  curate  of  Beaumont-la-Roger,  diocese  of  Evreux,  December  19,  1789. 
{Ibid.  DXIX.  portfolio  6.)  " Tableau  moral  du  clerg£  de  France"  (1785),  p.  2. 

1  He  who  has  the  right  of  receiving  the  first  year's  income  of  a  parish  church  after  « 
vacancy  caused  by  death. — TR. 

*  One  wb.o  performs  masses  for  the  dead  at  fixed  epochs. — TR. 


76  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  I 

their  perquisites,  get  only  from  400  to  500  livres,  and  who 
vainly  ask  for  the  meagre  pittance  to  which  they  are  entitled  by 
the  late  edict.  "  Ought  not  such  a  request,"  says  a  curate,  "  be 
willingly  granted  by  Messieurs  of  the  upper  clergy  who  suffer 
monks  to  enjoy  from  five  to  six  thousand  livres  income  each 
person,  whilst  they  see  curates,  who  are  at  least  as  necessary, 
reduced  to  the  lighter  portion  as  well  for  themselves  as  for  their 
parish."  And  they  yet  gnaw  on  this  slight  pittance  to  pay  the 
free  gift.  In  this  as  in  the  rest,  the  poor  are  charged  to  discharge 
the  rich.  In  the  diocese  of  Clermont,  "the  curates,  even  with 
the  simple  fixed  rates,  are  subject  to  a  tax  of  60,  80,  100,  120 
livres  and  even  more ;  the  vicars,  who  live  only  by  the  sweat  of 
their  brows,  are  taxed  22  livres."  The  prelates,  on  the  contrary, 
pay  but  little  and  "it  is  still  a  custom  to  present  bishops  on 
New-Year's  day  with  a  receipt  for  their  taxes."1 — No  issue  is 
open  to  the  curates.  Save  two  or  three  small  bishoprics  "with 
lackeys,"  all  the  dignities  of  the  church  are  reserved  to  the 
nobles ;  "  to  be  a  bishop  nowadays,"  says  one  of  them,  "  a  man 
must  be  a  gentleman."  I  regard  them  as  sergeants  who,  like 
their  fellows  in  the  army,  have  lost  all  hope  of  becoming  officers. 
Hence  there  are  some  whose  anger  bursts  its  bounds:  "We, 
unfortunate  curates  at  fixed  rates;  we,  commonly  assigned  to 
the  largest  parishes,  like  my  own  which,  for  two  leagues  in  the 
woods,  includes  hamlets  that  would  form  another;  we,  whose 
lot  makes  even  the  stones  and  beams  of  our  miserable  dwellings 
cry  aloud,"  we  have  to  endure  prelates  "  who  would  still,  through 
their  forest-keepers  prosecute  a  poor  curate  for  cutting  a  stick 
in  their  forests,  his  sole  support  on  his  long  journeys  over  the 
road."  On  their  passing,  the  poor  man  "  is  obliged  to  jump  close 
against  a  slope  to  protect  himself  from  the  feet  and  the  spat 
terings  of  the  horses  as  likewise  from  the  wheels  and,  perhaps, 
the  whip  of  an  insolent  coachman,"  and  then,  "begrimed  with 
dirt,  with  his  stick  in  one  hand  and  his  hat,  such  as  it  is,  in  the 
other,  he  must  salute,  humbly  and  quickly,  through  the  door  of 
the  close,  gilded  carriage,  the  counterfeit  hierophant  who  is  snor- 
ing on  the  wool  of  the  flock  the  poor  curate  is  feeding,  and 
of  which  he  merely  leaves  him  the  dung  and  the  grease."  The 
whole  letter  is  one  long  cry  of  rage;  it  is  rancor  of  this  stamp 
which  is  to  fashion  Joseph  I  ebons  and  Fouche"s.  In  this  situa 

1  Complaints  on  the  additional  burdens  which  the  Third- Estate  have  to  support,  by  Gauti« 
ie  Bianzat  (1788),  p.  237. 


CHAP.  iv.  THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY.  77 

tion  and  with  these  sentiments  it  is  evident  that  the  lower  clergy 
will  treat  its  chiefs  as  the  provincial  nobility  treated  theirs.1 
They  will  not  select  "  for  representatives  those  who  swim  in  opu- 
lence and  who  have  always  regarded  their  sufferings  with  tran- 
quillity." The  curates,  on  all  sides  "will  confederate  together" 
to  send  only  curates  to  the  States- General,  and  to  exclude  "not 
only  canons,  abb£s,  priors  and  other  beneficiaries,  but  again  the 
principal  superiors,  the  heads  of  the  hierarchy,"  that  is  to  say,  the 
bishops.  In  fact,  in  the  States-General  out  of  three  hundred 
clerical  deputies  we  count  two  hundred  and  eight  curates,  and, 
like  the  provincial  nobles,  they  bring  along  with  them  the  distrust 
and  the  ill-will  which  they  have  so  long  entertained  against  their 
chiefs.  We  shall  soon  see  a  test  of  it.  If  the  first  two  orders 
are  constrained  to  combine  against  the  communes  it  is  at  the 
critical  moment  when  the  curates  withdraw.  If  the  institution 
of  an  upper  chamber  is  rejected  it  is  owing  to  the  commonalty 
of  the  gentry  (la  plebe  des  gentilshommes )  being  unwilling  to 
allow  the  great  families  a  prerogative  which  they  have  abused. 

V. 

One  privilege  remains,  the  most  considerable  of  all,  that  of 
the  king ;  for,  in  this  staff  of  hereditary  nobles  he  is  the  heredi- 
tary general.  His  office,  indeed,  is  not  a  sinecure,  like  theii 
rank;  but  it  comports  quite  as  grave  disadvantages  and  worse 
temptations.  Two  things  are  pernicious  to  man,  the  lack  of 
occupation  and  the  lack  of  restraint;  neither  inactivity  nor 
omnipotency  are  comportable  with  his  nature,  the  absolute  prince 
who  is  all-powerful,  like  the  listless  aristocracy  with  nothing  to 
do,  ending  in  becoming  useless  and  mischievous.  In  grasping 
all  powers  the  king  insensibly  took  upon  himself  all  functions, — 
an  immense  undertaking  and  one  surpassing  human  strength 
For  it  is  the  Monarchy,  and  not  the  Revolution,  which  endowed 
France  with  administrative  centralization.2  Three  functionaries, 
one  above  the  other,  manage  all  public  business  under  the  di- 
rection of  the  king's  council;  the  comptroller-general  at  the 

1  Hippeau,  ibid.  VI.  164.  (Letter  of  the  curate  of  Marolles  and  of  thirteen  others.  Letter 
of  the  bishop  of  Evreu.x,  March  20,  1789.  Letter  of  the  abh6  d'Osraond,  April  2,  1789). 
Archives  rationales,  manuscript  documents  (procte-vertaiix)  of  the  States-General,  V.  148. 
pp.  245-247.  Memorials  of  the  curatss  of  Toulouse,  t  150,  p.  282,  in  the  representation! 
of  the  Dijon  chapter. 

3  De  Tocqueville,  book  II.  Tliis  capital  truth  has  been  established  by  M.  de  Tocquevllh 
with  superior  discernment 

7* 


78  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  i. 

centre,  the  intendant  in  each  gtnfralite,  the  sub-delegate  in 
each  flection,  manage  everything ;  they  fix,  rate,  and  collect 
taxes,  draft  the  militia,-  lay  out  and  build  roads,  hire  the 
police,  distribute  charities,  regulate  cultivation,  impose  their 
tutelage  on  the  parishes,  and  treat  the  municipal  magistrates 
as  valets.  "A  village,"  says  Turgot,2  "is  simply  an  assemblage 
of  houses  and  huts,  and  of  inhabitants  equally  passive.  ...  Your 
Majesty  is  obliged  to  decide  wholly  by  yourself  or  through  your 
mandataries.  .  .  .  Each  awaits  your  special  instructions  to  con- 
tribute to  the  public  good,  to  respect  the  rights  of  others,  and 
even  sometimes  to  exercise  his  own."  Consequently,  adds 
-:  •^Wecker,  "  the  government  of  France  is  carried  on  in  the  bureaux. 
.  .  .  The  clerks  relishing  their  influence,  never  fail  to  persuade 
the  minister  that  he  cannot  separate  himself  from  command  in  a 
single  detail."  Bureaucratic  at  the  centre,  arbitrariness,  ex- 
ceptions and  favors  everywhere,  such  is  a  summary  of  the 
system.  "  Sub-delegates,  officers  of  elections,  receivers  and  comp 
trollers  of  the  vingttimes,  commissaries  and  collectors  of  the 
:  tallies,  officers  of  the  salt-tax,  process-servers,  voituriers-buralistes, 
overseers  of  the  corv&s,  clerks  of  the  excise,  of  the  registry,  and 
of  dues  reserved,  all  these  men  belonging  to  the  tax-service,  each 
according  to  his  disposition,  subject  to  their  petty  authority, 
and  overwhelm  with  their  fiscal  knowledge,  the  ignorant  and 
inexperienced  tax-payers  incapable  of  recognizing  when  they  are 
cheated." 3  A  rude  species  of  centralization,  with  no  control  over 
it,  with  no  publicity,  without  uniformity,  thus  installs  over  the 
whole  country  an  army  of  petty  pachas  who,  as  judges,  decide 
causes  in  which  they  are  themselves  the  contestants,  ruling  by 
delegation,  and,  to  sanction  their  stealings  or  their  insolence, 
always  having  on  their  lips  the  name  of  the  king  who  is  obliged 
to  let  them  do  as  they  please.  In  short,  the  machine,  through 

1  A  term  Indicating  a  certain  division  of  the  kingdom  of  France  to  facilitate  the  collection 
?f  taxes.  Each  generalship  was  subdivided  into  elections,  in  which  there  was  a  tribunal 
called  the  bureau  of  finances. 

*  Remonstrances  of  Malesherbes ;  Memorials  by  Turgot  and  Necker  to  the  king,  (La- 
boulaye,  "De  1'administration  francaise  sous  Louis  XVI.,"  Revue  des  cours  litteraires,  IV. 

1*3,  759.  8l4-> 

*  Financiers  have  been  known  to  tell  citizens:  "The  ferine  (revenue-agency),  ought  tc 
grant  you  favors,  you  ought  to  be  forced  to  come  and  ask  for  them.     He  who  pays  nevei 
knows  what  he  owes.     The  fermier  is  sovereign  legislator  in  matters  relating  to  his  persona' 
Interest.     Every  petition,  in  which  the  interests  of  a  province,  or   those  of  the  whole  n» 
tion  are  concerned,  is  regarded  as  penal  temerity  if  it  is  signed  by  a  person  in  his  piivatf 
capacity  and  as  illicit  association  if  it  be  signed  by  several."    Malesherbes,  ibid. 


CHAP.  IV.  THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY.  7§ 

its  complexity,  irregularity,  and  dimensions  escapes  from  his 
grasp.  A  Frederick  II.,  who  rises  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
a  Napoleon  who  dictates  half  the  night  in  his  bath,  and  who 
works  eighteen  hours  a  day,  would  scarcely  suffice  for  its  needs. 
Such  a  regime  cannot  operate  without  constant  strain,  without 
indefatigable  energy,  without  infallible  discernment,  without  mil- 
itary rigidity,  without  superior  genius;  on  these  conditions  alone 
can  one  convert  twenty-five  millions  of  men  into  automatons  and 
substitute  his  own  will,  lucid  throughout,  coherent  throughout  and 
everywhere  present  for  the  wills  of  those  he  abolishes.  Louis 
XV.  lets  "the  good  machine"  work  by  itself,  while  he  settles 
down  into  apathy.  "They  would  have  it  so,  they  thought  it 
all  for  the  best,"1  is  his  manner  of  speaking  when  ministerial 
measures  prove  unsuccessful.  "If  I  were  a  lieutenant  of  the 
police,"  he  would  say  again,  "  I  would  prohibit  cabs."  In  vain 
is  he  aware  of  the  machine  being  dislocated  for  he  can  do  nothing 
and  he  causes  nothing  to  be  done.  In  the  event  of  misfortune 
he  has  a  private  reserve,  his  purse  apart.  "The  king,"  said 
Mme.  de  Pompadour,  "  would  sign  away  a  million  without  think- 
ing of  it,  but  he  would  scarcely  bestow  a  hundred  louis  out 
of  his  own  little  treasury."  Louis  XVI.  strives  for  some  time  to 
remove  some  of  the  wheels,  to  introduce  better  ones  and  to 
reduce  the  friction  of  the  rest ;  but  the  pieces  are  too  rusty,  and 
too  weighty;  he  cannot  adjust  them,  or  harmonize  them  and 
keep  them  in  their  places ;  his  hand  falls  by  his  side  wearied  and 
powerless.  He  is  content  to  practise  economy  himself;  he  re- 
cords in  his  journal  the  mending  of  his  watch,  and  allows  the 
public  vehicle  in  the  hands  of  Calonne  to  be  loaded  with  fresh 
abuses  that  it  may  revert  back  to  the  old  rut  from  which  it  is 
to  issue  only  by  breaking  down. 

Undoubtedly  the  wrong  they  do,  or  which  is  done  in  their  name, 
dissatisfies  and  chagrins  them,  but,  at  bottom,  their  conscience  is 
not  disturbed.  They  may  feel  compassion  for  the  people  but 
they  do  not  feel  themselves  culpable ;  they  are  its  sovereigns  and 
not  its  mandators.  France,  to  them,  is  as  a  domain  to  its  seign- 
ior, while  a  seignior  is  not  derelict  to  honor  in  being  prodigal  and 
neglectful.  He  merely  dissipates  away  his  own  property  and  no- 
body has  a  right  to  call  him  to  account.  Founded  on  feudal 

1  Mme.  Campan,  "Mgmoires,"  v.  I.  p.  13.     Mme.  du  Hausset,  "M6moires,"  p.  114. 


So  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  I. 

seigniory  royalty  is  like  an  estate,  an  inheritance,  and  it  would  be 
infidelity,  almost  treachery  in  a  prince,  in  any  event  weak  and 
base,  to  allow  any  portion  of  the  trust  received  by  him  intact 
from  his  ancestors  for  transmission  to  his  children,  to  pass  into  the 
hands  of  his  subjects.  Not  only  according  to  mediaeval  traditions 
is  he  proprietor-commandant  of  the  French  and  of  France,  but 
again,  according  to  the  theory  of  the  legists,  he  is,  like  Caesar,  the 
sole  and  perpetual  representative  of  the  nation,  and,  according  to 
the  theological  doctrine,  like  David,  the  sacred  and  special  dele- 
gate of  God  himself.  It  would  be  astonishing,  if,  with  all  these 
titles,  he  did  not  consider  the  public  revenue  as  his  personal  reve- 
nue, and  if,  in  many  cases,  he  did  not  act  accordingly.  Our 
point  of  view,  in  this  matter,  is  so  essentially  opposed  to  his,  we 
can  scarcely  put  ourselves  in  his  place;  but  at  that  time  his  point 
of  view  was  everybody's  point  of  view.  It  seemed,  then,  as 
strange  to  meddle  with  the  king's  business  as  to  meddle  with  that 
of  a  private  person.  Only  at  the  end  of  the  year  I7881  the  fa- 
mous salon  of  the  Palais-Royal  "  with  boldness  and  unimaginable 
folly,  asserts  that  in  a  true  monarchy  the  revenues  of  the  State 
should  not  be  at  the  sovereign's  disposition ;  that  he  should  be 
granted  merely  a  sum  sufficient  to  defray  the  expenses  of  his 
establishment,  of  his  donations,  and  for  favors  to  his  servants  as 
well  as  for  his  pleasures,  while  the  surplus  should  be  deposited  in 
the  royal  treasury  to  be  devoted  only  to  purposes  sanctioned  by 
the  National  Assembly."  To  reduce  the  sovereign  to  a  civil  list, 
to  seize  nine-tenths  of  his  income,  to  forbid  him  cash  acquittances, 
what  an  outrage!  The  surprise  would  be  no  greater  if  at  the 
present  day  it  were  proposed  to  divide  the  income  of  each  mill- 
ionaire into  two  portions,  the  smallest  to  go  for  the  owner's  sup- 
port, and  the  largest  to  be  placed  in  the  hands  of  the  government 
to  be  expended  in  works  of  public  utility.  An  old  farmer-gene- 
ral, an  intellectual  and  unprejudiced  man,  gravely  attempts  to 
justify  the  purchase  of  Saint-Cloud  by  calling  it  "  a  ring  for  the 
queen's  finger."  The  ring  cost,  indeed,  7,700,000  francs,  but 
"  the  king  of  France  then  had  an  income  of  477,000,000.  Wha* 
could  be  said  of  any  private  individual  who,  with  477,000  Hvres 
income,  should  for  once  in  his  life,  give  his  wife  diamonds  worth 

1  "Gustave  III.  et  la  cour  de  France,"  by  G«ffroy,  II.  474.     ("Archives  de  Dresde- 
French  correspondence,  November  20,  1788.) 


CHAP.  iv.  THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY.  81 

7,000  or  8,000  livres  ?  "  *    People  would  say  that  the  gift  is  mod- 
erate and  that  the  husband  is  reasonable. 

To  properly  understand  the  history  of  our  kings,  let  the  funda- 
mental principle  be  always  recognized  that  France  is  their  territory, 
a  farm  transmitted  from  father  to  son,  at  first  small,  then  slowly 
enlarged,  and,  at  last,  prodigiously  enlarged,  because  the  proprie- 
tor, always  on  the  watch,  has  found  means  to  make  favorable  ad- 
ditions to  it  at  the  expense  of  his  neighbors ;  at  the  end  of  eight 
hundred  years  it  comprises  about  27,000  square  leagues  of  ter- 
ritory. His  interests  and  his  self-love  certainly  harmonize  at  cerr 
tain  points  with  the  public  welfare ;  in  the  aggregate,  he  is  not  a 
poor  administrator,  and,  since  he  has  always  aggrandized  himself, 
he  has  done  better  than  many  others.  Moreover,  around  him,  a 
number  of  expert  individuals,  old  family  councillors,  withdrawn 
from  business  and  devoted  to  the  domain,  with  good  heads  and 
gray  beards,  respectfully  remonstrate  with  him  when  he  spends 
too  freely;  they  often  interest  him  in  public  improvements, 
in  roads,  canals,  hotels  for  invalids,  military  schools,  scien- 
tific institutions  and  charity  workshops,  in  the  limitation-  of  main- 
morts,  in  the  toleration  of  heretics,  in  the  postponement  of  mo- 
nastic vows  to  the  age  of  twenty-one,  in  provincial  assemblies,  and 
in  other  reforms  by  which  a  feudal  domain  becomes  transformed 
into  a  modern  domain.  Nevertheless,  the  domain,  feudal  or 
modern,  remains  his  property  which  he  can  abuse  as  well  as  use ; 
now,  whoever  uses  with  full  sway  ends  by  abusing  with  full 
license.  If,  in  his  ordinary  conduct,  personal  motives  do  not  pre- 
vail over  public  motives,  he  might  be  a  saint  like  Louis  IX.,  a 
stoic  like  Marcus  Aurelius,  while  remaining  a  seignior,  a  man  of 
the  world  like  the  people  of  his  court,  yet  more  badly  brought 
up,  worse  surrounded,  more  solicited,  more  tempted  and  more 
blindfolded.  At  the  very  least  he  has,  like  them,  his  own  self-love, 
his  own  tastes,  his  own  kindred,  his  mistress,  his  wife,  his  friends,  all 
intimate  and  influential  solicitors  who  must  first  be  satisfied,  while 
the  nation  only  comes  after  them.  The  result  is,  that,  for  a  hun- 
dred years,  from  1672  to  1774,  whenever  he  makes  war  it  is 
through  pique,  through  vanity,  through  family  interest,  through 
calculation  of  private  advantages,  or  to  gratify  a  woman.  Louis 
XV.  maintains  his  wars  yet  worse  than  in  undertaking  them ; J 

1  Augeard,  "  M6moires,"  p.  133. 

1  "  Mme.  de  Pompadour,  writing  to  Marshal  d'Estrfes,  in  the  army,  about  the  campaign 


82  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  l 

while  Louis  XVI.,  during  the  whole  of  his  foreign  policy,  finds  a 
trammel  in  the  conjugal  netting.  Internally,  he  lives  like  other 
seigniors,  but  more  grandly,  because  he  is  the  greatest  seignior  in 
France ;  I  shall  describe  his  course  presently,  and  farther  on  we 
shall  see  by  what  exactions  this  pomp  is  supported.  In  the  mean- 
time, let  us  note  two  or  three  details.  According  to  authentic 
statements,  Louis  XV.  expended  on  Mme.  de  Pompadour  thirty- 
six  millions  of  francs,  which  is  at  least  seventy-two  millions  now- 
adays.1 According  to  d'Argenson,2  in  1751,  he  has  four  thou- 
sand horses  in  his  stable,  and  we  are  assured  that  his  household 
alone,  or  his  personality  "  cost  this  year  68,000,000,"  almost  a  quar- 
ter of  the  public  revenue.  Why  be  astonished  if  we  look  upon 
the  sovereign  in  the  manner  of  the  day,  that  is  to  say,  as  a  cas- 
tellan in  the  enjoyment  of  his  hereditary  property  ?  He  con- 
structs, he  entertains,  he  gives  festivals,  he  hunts,  he  spends 
money  according  to  his  station.  Moreover,  being  the  master  of 
his  own  funds,  he  gives  to  whomsoever  he  pleases,  and  all  his 
selections  are  favors.  "Your  Majesty  knows  better  than  myself," 
writes  the  abb6  de  Vermond  to  the  empress  Maria  Theresa,3 
"that,  according  to  immemorial  custom,  three-fourths  of  the 
places,  honors  and  pensions  are  awarded  not  on  account  of  ser- 
vices but  out  of  favor  and  through  influence.  This  favor  was 
originally  prompted  by  birth,  alliance,  and  fortune ;  it  rarely  has 
any  other  basis  than  patronage  and  intrigue.  This  course  of 
things,  so  well  established,  is  respected  as  a  sort  of  justice  even 
by  those  who  suffer  the  most  from  it ;  a  man  of  worth  not  able  to 
dazzle  by  his  court  alliances,  nor  through  a  bewildering  expendi- 
ture, would  not  dare  to  demand  a  regiment,  however  ancient  and 
illustrious  his  services,  or  his  birth.  Twenty  years  ago,  the 
sons  of  dukes  and  of  ministers,  of  people  attached  to  the  court, 
the  relations  and  protege's  of  mistresses,  became  colonels  at  the 
age  of  sixteen ;  M.  de  Choiseul  excited  loud  complaints  on  ex- 
operations,  and  tracing  foi  him  a  sort  of  plan,  had  marked  on  the  paper  with  tntmc/tes  (face- 
patches),  the  different  places  which  she  advised  him  to  attack  or  defend."  Mme.  de  Genlis, 
"Souvenirs  de  F^licie,"  p.  329.  Narrative  by  Mme.  de  Puisieux,  the  mother-in-law  of 
Marshal  d'Estrees. 

1  According  to  the  manuscript  register  of  Mme.  de  Pompadour's  expenses,  in  the  archives 
of  the  prefecture  of  Versailles,  she  had  expended  36,327,268  livres.  Granier  de  Cassagnac, 
I.9i. 

'DArgenson,  "M^moires,"  VI.  398  (April  24,  1751).  "M.  du  Barry  declared  openly 
*hat  he  had  consumed  18,000,000  belonging  to  the  State."  (Correspondence  by  Metra,  I.  27. 

*  "  Marie  Antoinette,"  by  d'  Vrneth  and  Geflroy,  vol.  II.  p.  168  (June  5.  '774). 


CHAP.  iv.  THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY.  83 

tending  this  age  to  twenty-three  years;  but  to  compensate 
favoritism  and  absolutism  he  assigned  to  the  pure  grace  oi 
the  king,  or  rather  to  that  of  his  ministers,  the  appointment  of 
the  lieutenant-colonelcies  and  to  the  majorities  which,  until  that 
time,  belonged  of  right  to  priority  of  services  in  the  govern- 
ment, also  the  commands  of  provinces  and  of  towns.  You 
are  aware  that  these  places  have  been  largely  multiplied,  and 
that  they  are  bestowed  through  favor  and  credit,  like  the  regi 
ments.  The  cordon  bleu  and  the  cordon  rouge  are  in  the  like  po- 
sition, and  even  sometimes  the  cross  of  St.  Louis.  Bishoprics 
and  abbeys  are  still  more  constantly  subject  to  the  regime  of  in- 
fluence. As  to  positions  in  the  finances,  I  dare  not  allude  to 
them.  Appointments  in  the  judiciary  are  the  most  conditioned 
by  services  rendered ;  and  yet  how  much  do  not  credit  and  rec- 
ommendation influence  the  nomination  of  intendants,  first  presi- 
dents"— and  others?  Necker,  entering  on  his  duties,  finds 
twenty-eight  millions  in  pensions  paid  from  the  royal  treasury, 
and,  at  his  fall,  there  is  an  outflow  of  money  scattered  by  mil- 
lions on  the  people  of  the  court.  Even  during  his  term  of  office 
tne  king  allows  himself  to  make  the  fortunes  of  his  wife's  friends 
of  both  sexes ;  the  Countess  de  Polignac  obtains  400,000  francs 
to  pay  her  debts,  800,000  francs  dowry  for  her  daughter,  and, 
besides,  for  herself,  the  promise  of  an  estate  of  35,000  livres  in- 
come, and,  for  her  lover,  the  Count  de  Vaudreil,  a  pension  of 
30,000  livres;  the  Princess  de  Lamballe  obtains  100,000  crowns 
per  annum,  as  much  for  the  post  of  superintendent  of  the 
queen's  household,  which  is  revived  in  her  behalf,  as  for  a  po- 
sition for  her  brother.1  But  it  is  under  Calonne  that  prodigality 
reaches  insanity.  The  king  is  reproached  for  his  parsimony; 
why  should  he  be  sparing  of  his  purse  ?  Started  on  a  course 
not  his  own,  he  gives,  buys,  builds,  and  exchanges;  he  as- 
sists those  belonging  to  his  own  society,  doing  everything  in  a 
style  becoming  to  a  grand  seignior,  that  is  to  say,  throwing 
money  away  by  handfuls.  One  instance  enables  us  to  judge  of 
this:  in  order  to  assist  the  bankrupts  Gu6me'ne'e,  he  purchases 
of  them  three  estates  for  about  12,500,000  livres,  which  they  had 
just  purchased  for  4,000,000;  moreover,  in  exchange  for  two 
domains  in  Brittany,  which  produce  33,758  livres  income,  he 

1  "Marie  Antoinette,"  ibid.  vol.  II.  p.  377;  voL  III.  p.  391. 


84  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  i. 

makes  over  to  them  the  principality  of  Dombes  which  produces 
nearly  70,000  livres  income.1  When  we  come  to  read  the  Red 
Book  further  on  we  shall  find  700,000  livres  of  pensions  for  the 
Polignac  family,  most  of  them  reversionary  from  one  member  to 
another,  and  nearly  2,000,000  of  annual  benefactions  to  the 
Noailles  family.  The  king  has  forgotten  that  his  favors  are 
mortal  blows,  "  the  courtier  who  obtains  6,000  livres  pension,  re 
ceiving  the  faille  of  six  villages."  z  Each  largess  of  the  monarchy 
considering  the  state  of  the  taxes,  is  based  'on  the  privation  of 
the  peasants,  the  sovereign  through  his  clerks,  taking  bread  from 
the  poor  to  give  coaches  to  the  rich.  The  centre  of  the  govern- 
ment, in  short,  is  the  centre  of  the  evil ;  all  the  wrongs  and  all 
the  miseries  start  from  it  as  from  a  centre  of  pain  and  in- 
flammation ;  here  it  is  that  the  public  abscess  comes  to  a  head, 
and  here  will  it  break. 

VI. 

Such  is  the  just  and  fatal  effect  of  privileges  turned  to  selfish 
purposes  instead  of  being  exercised  for  the  advantage  of  others. 
To  him  who  utters  the  word,  sire  or  seignior  means  "  the  protec- 
tor who  feeds,  the  ancient  who  leads ; " 3  with  this  title  and  for 
this  purpose  too  much  cannot  be  granted  to  him,  for  there  is  no 
more  difficult  nor  more  exalted  function.  But  he  must  fulfil  its 
duties ;  otherwise  in  the  day  of  peril  he  will  be  left  to  himself. 
Already,  and  long  before  the  day  arrives,  his  flock  is  no  longer 
his  own ;  if  it  marches  onward  it  is  through  routine ;  it  is  simply 
a  multitude  of  persons,  but  no  longer  an  organized  body.  Whilst 
in  Germany  and  in  England  the  feudal  regime,  retained  or  trans- 
formed, still  composes  a  living  society,  in  France  its  mechanical 
framework  encloses  only  so  many  human  particles.  We  still  find 
the  material  order,  but  we  no  longer  find  the  moral  order  of 
things.  A  lingering,  deep-seated  revolution  has  destroyed  the 
close  hierarchical  union  of  recognized  supremacies  and  of  volun- 
tary deferences.  It  is  like  an  army  in  which  the  sentiments  that 
form  its  chiefs  and  those  that  form  its  subordinates  have  disap- 
peared ;  grades  are  indicated  by  uniforms,  but  they  have  no  hold 

1  Archives  Rationales,  H,  1456,  Memoir  for  M.  Bouret  de  Vezelay,  syndic  for  the  creditors 
'  Marquis  de  Mirabeau,  "  Trait^  de  la  population,"  p.  81. 

1  Lord,  in  Old  Saxon,  signifies  "he  who  provides  food ; "  seignior,  In  the  Latin  of  thf 
middle  ages,  signifies  "the  ancient,"  the  head  or  chief  of  che  flock. 


CHAP.  iv.  THE  STRUCTURE  OF  SOCIETY  85 

on  consciences;  all  that  constitutes  a  well-founded  army,  the 
legitimate  ascendency  of  officers,  the  justified  trust  of  soldiers, 
the  daily  interchange  of  mutual  obligations,  the  conviction  of 
each  being  useful  to  all  and  that  the  chiefs  are  the  most  useful  of 
all,  is  wanting  to  it.  How  could  we  encounter  this  conviction  in 
an  army  whose  staff-officers  have  no  other  occupation  but  to  dine 
out,  to  display  their  epaulettes  and  to  receive  double  pay  ?  Long 
before  the  final  crash  France  is  in  a  state  of  dissolution,  and  she 
is  in  a  state  of  dissolution  because  the  privileged  classes  had  for- 
gotten their  characters  as  public  men. 
8 


BOOK   SECOND. 

Jftattts  anti  <£f)aract«0. 

CHAPTER  I. 

THE  pRiNapLE  OF  SOCIAL  HABITS  UNDER  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME. — The 
Court  and  a  life  of  pomp  and  parade. — I.  The  physical  aspect  and  the 
moral  character  of  Versailles. — II.  The  king's  household. — Its  officials 
and  expenses. — His  military  family,  his  stable,  kennel,  chapel,  attendants, 
table,  chamber,  wardrobe,  outhouses,  furniture,  journeys. — III.  The  soci- 
ety of  the  king. — Officers  of  the  household. — Invited  guests. — IV.  The 
king's  occupations. — Rising  in  the  morning,  mass,  dinner,  walks,  hunting, 
supper,  play,  evening  receptions. — He  is  always  on  parade  and  in  com- 
pany.— V.  Diversions  of  the  royal  family  and  of  the  court. — Louis  XV.— 
Louis  XVI. — VI.  Other  similar  lives. — Princes  and  princesses. — Seigniors 
of  the  court. — Financiers  and  parvenues. — Ambassadors,  ministers,  govern- 
ors, general  officers. — VII.  Prelates,  seigniors  and  minor  provincial  nobles. 
— The  feudal  aristocracy  transformed  into  a  drawing-room  group. 

A  MILITARY  staff  on  furlough  for  a  century  and  more,  around  a 
commander-in-chief  who  gives  fashionable  entertainments  is  the 
principle  and  summary  of  the  habits  of  society  under  the  ancient 
regime.  Hence,  if  we  seek  to  comprehend  them,  we  must  first 
study  them  at  their  centre  and  their  source,  that  is  to  say,  in  the 
court  itself.  Like  the  whole  ancient  regime  the  court  is  the 
empty  form,  the  surviving  adornment  of  a  military  institution, 
the  causes  of  which  have  disappeared  while  the  effects  remain, 
custom  surviving  utility.  Formerly,  in  the  early  times  of  feudal- 
ism, in  the  companionship  and  simplicity  of  the  camp  and  the  cas- 
tle, the  nobles  served  the  king  with  their  own  hands,  one  providing 
for  his  house,  another  bringing  a  dish  to  his  table,  another  disrob- 
ing him  at  night,  and  another  looking  after  his  falcons  and  horsei 


CHAP.  I.  HABITS  AND  CHARACTERS.  8j 

Still  later,  under  Richelieu  and  during  the  Fronde,1  amid  the 
sudden  attacks  and  the  rude  exigencies  of  constant  danger  they 
constitute  the  garrison  of  his  hotel,  forming  an  armed  escort  for 
him,  and  a  retinue  of  ever-ready  swordsmen.  Now  as  formerly 
they  are  equally  assiduous  around  his  person,  wearing  their 
swords,  awaiting  a  word,  and  eager  to  do  his  bidding,  while  those 
of  highest  rank  seemingly  perform  domestic  service  in  his  house- 
held.  Pompous  parade,  however,  has  been  substituted  for  effi- 
cient surface ;  they  are  elegant  adornments  only,  and  no  longer 
useful  instrumentalities ;  they  act  along  with  the  king  who  is  him- 
self an  actor,  their  persons  serving  as  royal  decoration. 

I. 

It  must  be  admitted  that  the  decoration  is  successful,  and,  that 
since  the  f^tes  of  the  Italian  Renaissance,  more  magnificent 
displays  have  not  been  seen.  Let  us  follow  the  file  of  carriages 
which,  from  Paris  to  Versailles,  rolls  steadily  along  like  a  river. 
Certain  horses  called  "des  enrages"  fed  in  a  particular  way,  go 
and  come  in  three  hours.2  One  feels,  at  the  first  glance,  as  if  he 
were  in  a  city  of  a  particular  stamp,  suddenly  erected  and  at  one 
stroke,  like  a  prize-medal  for  a  special  purpose,  of  which  only  one 
is  made,  its  form  being  a  thing  apart  as  well  as  its  origin  and  use. 
In  vain  is  it  one  of  the  largest  cities  of  the  kingdom,  with  its 
population  of  eighty  thousand  souls ; 3  it  is  filled,  peopled,  and 
occupied  by  the  life  of  a  single  man ;  it  is  simply  a  royal  residence, 
arranged  entirely  to  provide  for  the  wants,  the  pleasures,  the 
service,  the  guardianship,  the  society,  the  display  of  a  king. 
Here  and  there,  in  corners  and  around  it,  are  inns,  stalls,  taverns, 
hovels  for  laborers  and  for  drudges,  for  dilapidated  soldiers  and 
accessory  menials;  these  tenements  necessarily  exist,  since 
mechanicians  are  essential  to  the  most  magnificent  apotheosis. 

•  "M&noires  de  Laporte"  (1632).     "M.  d'Epemon  came  to  Bordeaux,  where  he  found 
His  Eminence  very  ill.     He  visited  him  regularly  every  morning,  having  two  hundred 
guards  to  accompany  him  to  the  door  of  his  chamber."     "  M^moires  de  Retz."     "  Wecame 
to  the  audience,  M.  de  Beaufort  and  myself,  with  a  corps  of  nobles  which  might  number 
three  hundred  gentlemen ;  MM.  the  princes  had  with  them  nearly  a  thousand  gentlemen." 
All  the  memoirs  of  the  time  show  on  jvery  page  >Jiat  these  escorts  were  necessary  to  male* 
or  repel  sudden  attacks. 

»  Mercier,  "Tableau  de  Paris,"  IX.  3. 

*  Leroi,  "Histoire  de  Versailles,"  II.  ai.  (70,000  fixed  population  and  10,000  floating  pop. 
•ilation  according  to  the  registers  of  the  mayoralty.) 


88  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  n. 

The  rest,  however,  consists  of  sumptuous  hotels  and  edifices, 
sculptured  facades,  cornices  and  balustrades,  monumental  stair- 
ways, seigniorial  architecture,  regularly  spaced  and  disposed,  as  in 
a  procession,  around  the  vast  and  grandiose  palace  where  all  this 
terminates.  Here  are  the  fixed  abodes  of  the  noblest  families ;  to 
the  right  of  the  palace  are  the  hdtels  de  Bourbon,  d'Ecquervilly, 
de  la  Tr6moille,  de  Cond£,  de  Maurepas,  de  Bouillon,  d'Eu,  de 
Noailles,  de  Penthievre,  de  Livry,  du  Comte  de  la  Marche,  de 
Broglie,  du  Prince  de  Tingry,  d'Orle'ans,  de  Chatillon,  de  Villerry, 
d'Harcourt,  de  Monaco;  on  the  left  are  the  pavilions  d'Orle'ans, 
d'Harcou^t,  the  h6tels  de  Chevreuse,  de  Babelle,  de  1'Hopital, 
d'Antin,  ie  Dangeau,  de  Pontchartrain — no  end  to  their  enume- 
ration. Add  to  these  those  of  Paris,  all  those  which,  ten  leagues 
around,  at  Sceaux,  at  Ge"nevilliers,  at  Brunoy,  at  He-Adam,  at 
Rancy,  at  Saint-Ouen,  at  Colombes,  at  Saint-Germain,  at  Marly, 
at  Bellevue,  in  countless  places,  form  a  crown  of  architectural 
flowers,  from  which  daily  issue  as  many  gilded  wasps  to  shine  and 
buzz  about  Versailles,  the  centre  of  all  lustre  and  affluence. 
About  a  hundred  of  these  are  "  presented  "  each  year,  men  and 
women,  which  makes  about  two  or  three  thousand  in  all ; l  this 
forms  the  king's  society,  the  ladies  who  courtesy  before  him,  and 
the  seigniors  who  accompany  him  in  his  carriage ;  their  hotels  are 
near  by,  or  within  reach,  so  as  to  fill  his  drawing-room  or  his 
antechamber  at  all  hours. 

A  drawing-room  like  this  calls  for  proportionate  dependencies ; 
the  hotels  and  buildings  at  Versailles  devoted  to  the  private 
service  of  the  king  and  his  attendants  number  by  hundreds.  No 
human  existence  since  that  of  the  Csesars  has  so  spread  itself  out 
in  the  sunshine.  In  the  Rue  des  Reservoirs  we  have  the  old 
hotel  and  the  new  one  of  the  governor  of  Versailles,  the  hotel 
of  the  tutor  to  the  children  of  the  Comte  d'Artois,  the  ward- 
robe of  the  crown,  the  building  for  the  dressing-rooms  and 
green-rooms  of  the  actors  who  perform  at  the  palace,  with  the 
stables  belonging  to  Monsieur.  In  the  Rue  des  Bon-Enfants  are 
the  hotel  of  the  keeper  of  the  wardrobe,  the  lodgings  for  the 
fountain-men,  the  hotel  of  the  officers  of  the  Comtesse  de  Pro- 
vence. In  the  Rue  de  la  Pompe,  the  hotel  of  the  grand-provost, 
the  Duke  of  Orleans's  stables,  the  hotel  of  the  Comte  d'Artois's 

l  Warroquier,  "Etat  de  la  France"  (1789).    The  list  of  persons  presented  at  court  hot 
tween  1779  and  1789,  contains  463  men  and  414  women.     VoL  II.  p.  5x5. 


CHAP.  i.  HABITS  AND  CHARACTERS.  89 

guardsmen,  the  queen's  stables,  the  pavilion  des  Sources.  In  the 
Rue  Satory  the  Comtesse  d'Artois's  stables.  Monsieur's  English 
garden,  the  king's  ice-houses,  the  riding-hall  of  the  king's  light- 
horseguards,  the  garden  belonging  to  the  hotel  of  the  treasurers 
of  the  buildings.  Judge  of  other  streets  by  these  four.  One 
cannot  take  a  hundred  steps  without  encountering  some  accessory 
of  the  palace, — the  hotel  of  the  staff  of  the  body-guard,  the  hotel 
of  the  staff  of  light-horseguards,  the  immense  hotel  of  the  body- 
guard itself,  the  hotel  of  the  gendarmes  of  the  guard,  the  hotel 
of  the  grand  wolf-huntsman,  of  the  grand  falconer,  of  the  grand 
huntsman,  of  the  grand-master,  of  the  commandant  of  the 
canal,  of  the  comptroller-general,  of  the  superintendent  of  the 
buildings,  and  of  the  chancellor;  buildings  devoted  to  falconry, 
and  the  vol  de  cabinet,  to  boar-hunting,  to  the  grand  kennel,  to 
the  duphin  kennel,  to  the  kennel  for  untrained  dogs,  to  the  court 
carriages,  to  shops  and  storehouses  connected  with  amusements, 
to  the  great  stable  and  the  little  stables,  to  other  stables  in  the 
Rue  de  Limoges,  in  the  Rue  Royale,  and  in  the  Avenue  Saint- 
Cloud  ;  to  the  king's  vegetable  garden  comprising  twenty-nine 
gardens  and  four  terraces ;  to  the  great  habitation  occupied  by 
two  thousand  persons,  with  other  tenements  called  "Louises" 
in  which  the  king  assigned  temporary  or  permanent  lodgings, 
— words  on  paper  render  no  physical  impression  of  the  physi- 
cal enormity. 

At  the  present  day  nothing  remains  of  this  old  Versailles, 
mutilated  and  appropriated  to  other  uses,  but  fragments,  which 
nevertheless,  go  and  see.  Observe  those  three  avenues  meeting 
at  the  great  square,  two  hundred  and  forty  feet  broad  and  twenty- 
four  hundred  long,  and  not  too  large  for  the  gathering  crowds, 
the  display,  the  blinding  velocity  of  the  escorts  in  full  speed  and 
of  the  carriages  running  "  at  death's  door ; " *  observe  the  two 
stables  facing  the  chateau  with  their  railings  one  hundred  and 
ninety-two  feet  long,  costing  in  1682,  three  millions,  that  is  to 
say,  fifteen  millions  to-day;  so  ample  and  beautiful  that,  even 
under  Louis  XIV.  himself,  they  sometimes  served  as  a  cavalcade 
circus  for  the  princes,  sometimes  as  a  -theatre,  and  sometimes 
as  a  ball-room ;  then  let  the  eye  follow  the  development  of  the 
gigantic  semi-circular  square  which,  from  railing  to  railing  ana 

1  People  were  run  over  almost  every  day  in  Paris  by  the  fashionable  vehicles,  it  being  thi 
habit  of  the  great  to  ride  very  fast 

8* 


90  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  it 

from  court  to  court,  ascends  and  slowly  decreases,  at  first  be- 
tween the  hotels  of  the  ministers  and  then  between  the  two 
colossal  wings,  terminating  in  the  ostentatious  frame  of  the  mar- 
ble court  where  pilasters,  statues,  pediments,  and  multiplied  and 
accumulated  ornaments,  story  above  story,  carry  the  majestic  reg- 
ularity of  their  lines  and  the  overcharged  mass  of  their  decora- 
tion up  to  the  sky.  According  to  a  bound  manuscript  bearing 
the  arms  of  Mansart,  the  palace  cost  153,000,000,  that  is  to  say, 
about  750,000,000  francs  of  to-day:1  when  a  king  aims  at  im- 
posing display  this  is  the  cost  of  his  lodging.  Now  turn  the  eye 
to  the  other  side,  towards  the  gardens,  and  this  self-display  be- 
comes the  more  impressive.  The  parterres  and  the  park  are, 
again,  a  drawing-room  in  the  open  air ;  there  is  nothing  natural 
of  nature  here;  she  is  put  in  order  and  rectified  wholly  with 
a  view  to  society;  this  is  no  place  to  be  alone  and  to  relax 
oneself,  but  a  place  for  promenades  and  the  exchange  of  polite 
salutations.  Those  formal  groves  are  walls  and  hangings ;  those 
shaven  yews  are  vases  and  lyres.  The  parterres  are  flowering 
carpets.  In  those  straight,  rectilinear  avenues  the  king  with  his 
cane  in  his  hand,  groups  around  him  his  entire  retinue.  Sixty 
ladies  in  brocade  dresses,  expanding  into  skirts  measuring  twenty- 
four  feet  in  circumference,  easily  find  room  on  the  steps  of  the 
staircases.2  Those  verdant  cabinets  afford  shade  for  a  princely 
collation.  Under  that  circular  portico,  ah1  the  seigniors  enjoying 
the  privilege  of  entering  it  witness  together  the  play  of  a  new 
jet  d'eau.  Their  counterparts  greet  them  even  in  the  marble 
and  bronze  figures  which  people  the  paths  and  basins,  in  the 
dignified  face  of  an  Apollo,  in  the  theatrical  air  of  a  Jupiter,  in 
the  worldly  ease  or  studied  nonchalance  of  a  Diana  or  a  Venus. 
The  stamp  of  the  court,  deepened  through  the  joint  efforts  of 
society  for  a  century,  is  so  strong  that  it  is  graven  on  each  detail 
as  on  the  whole,  and  on  material  objects  as  on  matters  of  the 
intellect. 

1  153,282,827  livres,  10  sous.,  3  deniers.  "Souvenirsd'unpagedelacourde  Louis  XVI.," 
by  the  Count  d'H6zecques,  p.  142.  In  1690,  before  the  chapel  and  theatre  were  constructed, 
it  had  already  cost  100,000,000,  (St.  Simon,  XII.  514.  Memoirs  of  Marinier,  clerk  of  tho 
king's  buildings. ) 

1  Museum  of  Engravings,  National  Library.  "  Histoire  de  France  par  estampes,"/ojj/»t 
«nd  particularly  the  plans  and  views  of  Versailles,  by  AveBne,  also,  "the  drawing  of  a  col 
«don  given  by  M.  le  Prince  in  the  Labyrinth  of  Chantilly  Aug.  39,  1687. 


CHAP.  I.  HABITS  AND  CHARACTERS.  gi 

II. 

The  foregoing  is  but  the  framework;  before  1789  it  was  com- 
pletely filled  up.  "  You  have  seen  nothing,"  says  Chateaubriand, 
"  if  you  have  not  seen  the  pomp  of  Versailles,  even  after  the  dis 
banding  of  the  king's  household;  Louis  XIV.  was  always  there."  * 
It  is  a  swarm  of  liveries,  uniforms,  costumes  and  equipages  as 
brilliant  and  as  varied  as  in  a  picture.  I  should  be  glad  to  have 
lived  eight  days  in  this  society.  It  was  made  expressly  to  be 
painted,  being  specially  designed  for  the  pleasure  of  the  eye, 
like  an  operatic  scene.  But  how  can  we  of  to-day  imagine  peo- 
ple for  whom  life  was  wholly  operatic  ?  At  that  time  a  grandee 
was  obliged  to  live  in  great  state ;  his  retinue  and  his  trappings 
formed  a  part  of  his  personality ;  he  fails  in  doing  himself  justice 
if  these  are  not  as  ample  and  as  splendid  as  he  can  make  them ; 
he  would  be  as  much  mortified  at  any  blank  in  his  household  as 
we  with  a  hole  in  our  coats.  Should  he  make  any  curtailment 
he  would  decline  in  reputation ;  on  Louis  XVI.  undertaking  re- 
forms the  court  says  that  he  acts  like  a  bourgeois.  When  a 
prince  or  princess  becomes  of  age  a  household  is  formed  for  them ; 
when  a  prince  marries  a  household  is  formed  for  his  wife ;  and  by 
a  household  it  must  be  understood  that  it  is  a  pompous  display 
of  fifteen  or  twenty  distinct  services, — stables,  a  hunting-train,  a 
chapel,  a  faculty,  the  bedchamber  and  the  wardrobe,  a  chamber 
of  disbursements,  a  table,  pantry,  kitchen,  and  wine-cellars,  a 
fruitery,  z.fourrtire,  a  common  kitchen,  a  cabinet,  a  council;2  she 
would  feel  that  she  was  not  a  princess  without  all  this.  There 
are  274  appointments  in  the  household  of  the  Due  d'Orle"ans, 
210  in  that  of  Mesdames,  68  in  that  of  Madame  Elisabeth,  239 
in  that  of  the  Comtesse  d'Artois,  256  in  that  of  the  Comtesse  de 
Provence  and  496  in  that  of  the  Queen.  When  the  formation  of 
a  household  for  Madame  Royale,  one  month  old,  is  necessary, 
"  the  queen,"  writes  the  Austrian  ambassador,  "  desires  to  sup- 
press a  baneful  indolence,  a  useless  affluence  of  attendants  and 
every  practice  tending  to  give  birth  to  sentiments  of  pride.  In 
spite  of  the  said  retrenchment  the  household  of  the  young  prin- 
cess is  to  consist  of  nearly  eighty  persons  destined  to  the  sole 

1  Memoirs,  I.  221.     He  was  presented  at  court  February  19,  1787. 

*  For  these  details  cf.  Warroquier,  vol.  I.  passim.  Archives  imperiales,  O,  710  bis,  the 
king's  household,  expenditure  of  1771.  D'Argenson,  February  25,  1752.  In  1771  thre« 
millions  are  expended  on  the  installation  of  the  Count  d'Artois.  A  suite  of  rooms  for  Mm* 
Adelaide  cost  800,000  livres. 


92  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  II 

service  of  her  Royal  Highness." l  The  civil  household  of  Mon 
sieur  comprises  420  appointments,  his  military  household,  179, 
that  of  the  Comte  d'Artois  237  and  his  civil  household  456. 
Three-fourths  of  them  are  for  display;  with  their  embroideries 
and  laces,  their  unembarrassed  and  polite  expression,  their  atten- 
tive and  discreet  air,  their  easy  way  of  saluting,  walking  and 
smiling,  they  appear  well  in  an  antechamber  placed  in  lines,  or 
scattered  in  groups  in  a  gallery ;  I  should  have  liked  to  contem- 
plate even  the  stable  and  kitchen  array,  the  figures  filling  up  the 
background  of  the  picture.  By  these  stars  of  inferior  magnitude 
we  may  judge  of  the  splendor  of  the  royal  sun. 

The  king  must  have  guards,  infantry,  cavalry,  body-guards, 
French  guardsmen,  Swiss  guardsmen,  Cent  Suisses,  light-horse- 
guards,  gendarmes  of  the  guard,  gate-guardsmen,  in  all,  9,050 
men,3  costing  annually  7,681,000  livres.  Four  companies  of  the 
French  guard,  and  two  of  the  Swiss  guard  parade  every  day  in 
the  court  of  the  ministers  between  the  two  railings,  and  when  the 
king  issues  in  his  carriage  to  go  to  Paris  or  Fontainebleau  the 
spectacle  is  magnificent.  Four  trumpeters  in  front  and  four 
behind,  the  Swiss  guards  on  one  side  and  the  French  guards 
on  the  other,  form  a  line  as  far  as  it  can  reach.3  The  Cent 
Suisses  march  ahead  of  the  horsemen  in  the  costume  of  the 
sixteenth  century,  wearing  the  halberd,  ruff,  plumed  hat  and  the 
ample  parti-colored  striped  doublet;  alongside  of  these  are  the 
provost-guard  with  scarlet  facings  and  gold  frogs,  and  compa- 
nies of  yeomanry  bristling  with  gold  and  silver.  The  officers  of 
the  various  corps,  the  trumpeters  and  the  musicians,  covered  with 
gold  and  silver  lace,  are  dazzling  to  look  at;  the  kettledrum 
suspended  at  the  saddle-bow,  overcharged  with  painted  and 
gilded  ornaments,  is  a  curiosity  for  a  glass  case;  the  negro 
cymbal-player  of  the  French  guards  resembles  the  sultan  of  a 
fairy-tale.  Behind  the  carriage  and  alongside  of  it  trot  the 
body-guards,  with  sword  and  carbine,  wearing  red  breeches,  high 
black  boots,  and  a  blue  coat  sewn  with  white  embroidery,  all  of 

1  Marie  Antoinette,  "  Correspondance  secrete,"  by  d'Arneth  and  Geffrey,  III.  292.  Letter 
of  Mercy,  January  25, 1779.  Warroquier,  in  1789,  mentions  only  fifteen  places  in  the  house- 
hold of  Madame  Royale.  This,  along  with  other  indications,  shows  the  inadequacy  o/ 
official  statements. 

*  The  number  ascertainable  after  the  reductions  of  1775  and  1776,  and  before  those  of  1787 
S«e  Warroquier,  vol.  I.  Necker,  "Administration  des  Finances,"  II.  119. 

'  "La  Maison  du  Roi  en  1786,'  colored  engravings  in  the  Museum  of  Engravings. 


CHAP.  I.  HABITS  AND  CHARACTERS.  93 

them  unquestionable  gentlemen ;  there  were  twelve  hundred  of 
these  selected  among  the  nobles  and  according  to  size;  among 
them  are  the  guards  de  la  manche,  still  more  intimate,  who  at 
church  and  on  ceremonial  occasions,  in  white  doublets  starred  with 
silver  and  gold  spangles,  holding  their  damascene  partisans  in 
their  hands,  always  remain  standing  and  turned  towards  the  king 
"  so  as  to  see  his  person  from  all  sides. "  Thus  is  his  protection 
ensured.  Being  a  gentleman  the  king  is  a  cavalier  and  he  must 
have  a  suitable  stable,1  1,857  horses,  217  vehicles,  1,458  men 
whom  he  clothes,  the  liveries  costing  540,000  francs  a  year; 
besides  these  there  were  20  tutors  and  sub-tutors,  almoners, 
professors,  cooks,  and  valets  to  govern,  educate  and  serve  the 
pages;  and  again  about  thirty  physicians,  apothecaries,  nurses  for 
the  sick,  intendants,  treasurers,  workmen,  and  licensed  and  paid 
merchants  for  the  accessories  of  the  service;  in  all  more  than 
1,500  men.  Horses  to  the  amount  of  250,000  francs  are  pur- 
chased yearly,  and  there  are  stock- stables  in  Limousin  and  in 
Normandy  to  draw  on  for  supplies.  287  horses  are  exercised 
daily  in  the  two  riding-halls;  there  are  443  saddle-horses  in  the 
small  stable,  437  in  the  large  one,  and  these  are  not  sufficient 
for  the  "  vivacity  of  the  service."  The  whole  cost  4,600,000 
livres  in  1775,  which  sum  reaches  6,200,000  livres  in  1787.* 
Still  another  spectacle  should  be  seen  with  one's  own  eyes, — 
the  pages,3  the  grooms,  the  laced  pupils,  the  silver-button 
pupils,  the  boys  of  the  little  livery  in  silk,  the  instrumentalists 
and  the  mounted  messengers  of  the  stable.  The  use  of  the  horse 
is  a  feudal  art;  no  luxury  is  more  natural  to  a  man  of  quality. 
Think  of  the  stables  at  Chantilly  which  are  palaces.  To  convey 
an  idea  of  a  well-educated  and  genteel  man  he  was  then  called 

1  Archives  nationales,  O1,  738.     Report  by  M.  Tessier  (1780),  on  the  large  and  small 
stables.     The  queen's  stables  comprise  75  vehicles  and  330  horses.     These  are  the  veritable 
figures  taken  from  secret  manuscript  reports,  showing  the  inadequacy  of  official  statements. 
The  Versailles  Almanach  of  1775  for  instance,  states  that  there  were  only  335  men  in  the 
stables  while  we  see  that  in  reality  the  number  was  four  or  five  times  as  many.     "Previous 
tr  a*,  the  reforms,  says  a  witness,  I  believe  that  the  number  of  the  king's  horses  amounted 
to  3,000."     (D'He'zecques.  "Souvenirs  d'un  page  de  Louis  XVI.,"  p.  121.) 

2  "  La  Maison  du  Roi  justifi6e  par  un  soldat  citoyen,"   (1786)  according  to  statements 
published  by  the  government.     "  La  future  maison  du  roi"  (1790).     "The  two  stables  cost 
in  1786,  the  larger  one  4,207,606  livres,  and  the  smaller  3,509,402  livres,  a  total  of  7,717,058 
livres,  of  which  486,546  livres  were  for  the  purchase  of  horses." 

*  "  On  my  arrival  at  Versailles  (1786),  there  were  150  pages  not  including  those  of  the 
princes  of  the  blood  who  lived  at  Paris.  A  page's  coat  cost  1,500  livres,  (crimson  velvel 
embroiderca  with  gold  on  ail  the  seams,  and  a  hat  with  feather  and  Spanish  point  lace.)" 
D'Hezecques,  ibid.  112. 


94  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  u 

"  an  accomplished  cavalier ; "  in  fact,  his  importance  was  fully 
manifest  only  when  he  was  in  the  saddle,  on  a  blood-horse  like 
himself.  Another  genteel  taste,  the  effect  of  the  preceding,  is 
the  chase.  It  costs  the  king  from  1,100,000  to  1,200,000  livres  a 
year,  and  requires  280  horses  besides  those  of  the  two  stables.  A 
more  varied  or  more  complete  equipment  could  not  be  imagined, 
— a  pack  of  hounds  for  the  boar,  another  for  the  wolf,  anothei 
for  the  roe-buck,  a  cast,  (of  hawks)  for  the  crow,  a  cast  for  the 
magpie,  a  cast  for  merlins,  a  cast  for  hares,  a  cast  for  the  fields. 
In  1783,  179,194  livres  are  expended  for  feeding  horses  and 
53,412  livres  for  feeding  dogs.1  The  entire  territory,  ten  leagues 
around  Paris, is  a  game-preserve;  "not  a  gun  could  be  fired  there; a 
accordingly  the  plains  are  seen  covered  with  partridges  accus- 
tomed to  man,  quietly  picking  up  the  grain  and  never  stirring  as 
he  passes."  Add  to  this  the  princes'  captainries  extending  as  far 
as  Villers-Cotterets  and  Orleans;  these  form  an  almost  continu- 
ous circle  around  Paris,  thirty  leagues  in  circumference  where 
game,  protected,  replaced  and  multiplied,  swarms  for  the  pleasure 
of  the  king.  The  park  of  Versailles  alone  forms  an  enclosure  of  more 
than  ten  leagues.  The  forest  of  Rambouillet  embraces  25,000 
arpents  (30,000  acres).  Herds  of  seventy-five  and  eighty  stags 
are  encountered  around  Fontainebleau.  No  true  hunter  could 
read  the  minute-book  of  the  chase  without  feeling  an  impulse  of 
envy.  The  wolf-hounds  run  twice  a  week  and  they  take  forty 
wolves  a  year.  Between  1743  and  1744  Louis  XV.  runs  down 
6,400  stags.  Louis  XVI.  writes  August  3oth,  1781:  "Killed  460 
pieces  to-day."  In  1780  he  brings  down  20,534  pieces;  in  1781, 
20,291;  in  fourteen  years,  189,251  pieces,  besides  1,254  stags, 
while  boars  and  bucks  are  proportionate;  and  it  must  be  noted 
that  this  is  all  done  by  his  own  hand  since  his  parks  approach 
his  houses. 

Such  is,  in  fine,  the  character  of  a  "  well-appointed  household," 
that  is  to  say,  provided  with  its  dependencies  and  services. 
Everything  is  within  reach ;  it  is  a  complete  world  in  itself  and 
self-sufficing.  One  exalted  being  attaches  to  and  gathers  around 
it,  with  universal  foresight  and  minuteness  of  detail,  every  ap- 

1  Archives  rationales,  O1,  778.    Memoria.  oa  the  hunting-train  between  1760  and  1792  and 
especially  the  report  of  1786. 

2  Mercier,  "Tableau  de  Pvis,"  vol.  I.  p.  n;  v.  p.  62.    D'Hezectjues,  ibid,  253.    "Jour 
nal  de  Louis  XVI."  published  by  Nicolard  at,  Jassim. 


CHAP.  I.  HABITS  AND  CHARACTERS.  95 

purtenance  it  employs  or  can  possibly  employ.  Each  prince, 
each  princess  thus  has  a  professional  faculty  and  a  chapel;1  it 
would  not  answer  for  the  almoner  who  says  mass  or  the  doctci 
who  looks  after  their  health  to  be  obtained  outside.  So  much 
stronger  is  the  reason  that  the  king  should  have  ministrants  of 
this  stamp;  his  chapel  embraces  seventy-five  almoners,  chaplains, 
confessors,  masters  of  the  oratory,  clerks,  announcers,  carpet- 
bearers,  choristers,  copyists,  and  composers  of  sacred  rcusic; 
his  faculty  is  composed  of  forty-eight  physicians,  surgeons,  apoth- 
ecaries, oculists,  operators,  bone-setters,  distillers,  chiropodist? 
and  spagyrists  (a  species  of  alchemists).  We  must  still  note  his  de- 
partment of  profane  music  consisting  of  one  hundred  and  twen- 
ty-eight vocalists,  dancers,  instrumentalists,  directors  and  superin- 
tendents ;  his  library  corps  of  forty-three  keepers,  readers,'  inter- 
preters, engravers,  medallists,  geographers,  binders  and  printers ; 
the  staff  of  ceremonial  display,  sixty-two  heralds,  sword-bearers, 
ushers  and  musicians ;  the  staff  of  housekeepers  consisting  of  six- 
ty-eight marshals,  guides  and  commissaries.  I  omit  other  services 
in  haste  to  reach  the  most  important, — that  of  the  table,  a  fine 
house  and  good  housekeeping  being  known  by  the  table. 

There  are  three  sections  of  the  table  service;2  the  first  for  the 
king  and  his  younger  children;  the  second,  called  the  little  ordi- 
nary, for  the  table  of  the  grand-master,  the  grand-chamberlain  and 
the  princes  and  princesses  living  with  the  king ;  the  third,  called 
the  great  ordinary,  for  the  grand-master's  second  table,  that  of 
the  butlers  of  the  king's  household,  the  almoners,  the  gentlemen 
in  waiting,  and  that  of  the  valets-de-chambre,  in  all  three  hun- 
dred and  eighty-three  officers  of  the  table  and  one  hundred  and 
three  waiters  at  an  expense  of  2,177,771  livres;  besides  this 
there  are  389,173  livres  appropriated  to  the  table  of  Madame 
Elisabeth,  and  1,093,547  livres  for  that  of  Mesdames,  the  total 
being  3,660,491  livres  for  the  table.  The  wine-merchant  fur- 
nished wine  to  the  amount  of  300,000  francs  per  annum,  and 

1  Warroquier,  vol.  I.  passim.  Household  of  the  Queen :  for  the  chapel  22  persons,  the 
faculty  6.  That  of  Monsieur,  the  chapel  22,  the  faculty  21.  That  of  Madame,  the  chapel 
20,  the  faculty  9.  That  of  the  Comte  d'Artois,  the  chapel  20,  the  faculty  28.  That  of  the 
Comtesse  d'Artois,  the  chapel  19,  the  faculty  17.  That  of  the  Due  d'Orteans,  the  chape. 
6,  the  faculty  19. 

*  Archives  nationales,  O',  738.  Report  by  M.  Mesnard  de  Choisy,  (March,  1780).  They 
cause  a  reform  (August  17,  1780).  "La  Maison  du  roi  justified"  (1789),  p.  24.  In  1788  th« 
expenses  of  the  table  are  reduced  to  2,870,999  livres,  of  which  600,000  livres  are  appropri 
ated  to  Mesdames  for  their  table. 


96  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  n 

the  purveyor  game,  meat  and  fish  at  a  cost  of  1,000,000  livres. 
Only  to  fetch  water  from  Ville-d'Avray  and  to  convey  servants, 
waiters  and  provisions  required  fifty  horses  hired  at  the  rate  of 
70,591  francs  per  annum.  The  privilege  of  the  royal  princes 
and  princesses  "  to  send  to  the  bureau  for  fish  on  fast  days  when 
not  residing  regularly  at  the  court"  amounts  in  1778,  to  175,116 
livres.  On  reading  in  the  Almanach  the  titles  of  the  office- 
holders we  see  a  Gargantua's  feast  spread  out  before  us,  the 
formal  hierarchy  of  the  kitchens,  so  many  grand  officials  of  the 
table, — the  butlers,  comptrollers  and  comptroller-pupils,  the 
clerks  and  gentlemen  of  the  pantry,  the  cup-bearers  and  carvers, 
the  officers  and  equerries  of  the  kitchen,  the  chiefs,  assistants  and 
head-cooks,  the  ordinary  scullions,  turnspits  and  cellarers,  the 
common  gardeners  and  salad  gardeners,  laundry  servants,  pas- 
try-cooks, plate-changers,  table-setters,  crockery-keepers,  and 
broach-bearers,  the  butler  of  the  table  of  the  head-butler, — an 
entire  procession  of  broad-braided  backs  and  imposing  round 
bellies,  with  grave  countenances, which,  with  order  and  conviction, 
exercise  their  functions  before  the  saucepans  and  around  the 
buffets. 

One  step  more  and  we  enter  the  sanctuary,  the  king's  apart- 
ment. Two  principal  dignitaries  preside  over  this  and  each  has 
under  him  about  a  hundred  subordinates.  On  one  side  is  the 
grand  chamberlain  with  his  first  gentlemen  of  the  bedchamber, 
the  pages  of  the  bedchamber,  their  governors  and  instructors, 
the  ushers  of  the  antechamber,  with  the  four  first  valets-de- 
chambre  in  ordinary,  sixteen  special  valets  serving  in  turn,  his 
regular  and  special  cloak-bearers,  his  barbers,  upholsterers, 
watch-menders,  waiters  and  porters;  on  the  other  hand  is  the 
gi  md-master  of  the  wardrobe,  with  the  masters  of  the  wardrobe 
an  d  the  valets  of  the  wardrobe  regular  and  special,  the  ordinary 
trunk-carriers,  mall-bearers,  tailors,  laundry  servants,  starchers, 
ind  common  waiters,  with  the  gentlemen,  officers  and  secretaries 
in  ordinary  of  the  cabinet,  in  all  198  persons  for  domestic  service, 
like  so  many  domestic  utensils  for  every  personal  want  or  as 
sumptuous  pieces  of  furniture  for  the  decoration  of  the  apart- 
ment. Some  of  them  fetch  the  mall  and  the  balls,  others  hold 
the  mantle  and  cane,  others  comb  the  king's  hair  and  dry  him 
off  after  a  bath,  others  drh  e  the  mules  which  transport  his  bed, 
others  watch  his  pet  greyhounds  in  his  room,  others  fold,  put  on 


CHAP.  i.  HABITS  AND  CHARACTERS.  97 

*nd  tie  his  cravat,  and  others  fetch  and  carry  off  his  easy  chair.1 
Some  there  are  whose  sole  business  it  is  to  fill  a  corner  which 
must  not  be  left  empty.  Certainly,  with  respect  to  ease  of 
deportment  and  appearance  these  are  the  most  conspicuous  of 
hll;  being  so  close  to  the  master  they  are  under  obligation  to 
appear  well ;  in  such  proximity  their  bearing  must  not  create  a 
discord. 

Such  is  the  king's  household,  and  I  have  only  described  one 
of  his  residences.  He  has  a  dozen  of  them  besides  Versailles, 
great  and  small, — Marly,  the  two  Trianons,  la  Muette,  Meudon, 
Choisy,  Saint-Hubert,  Saint-Germain,  Fontainebleau,  Compiegne, 
Saint-Cloud,  Rambouillet,2  without  counting  the  Louvre,  the 
Tuileries  and  Chambord,  with  their  parks  and  hunting-grounds, 
their  governors,  inspectors,  comptrollers,  concierges,  fountain- 
tenders,  gardeners,  sweepers,  scrubbers,  mole-catchers,  wood- 
rangers,  mounted  and  foot-guards,  in  all  more  than  a  thousand 
persons.  Naturally  he  entertains,  plans  and  builds,  and,  in  this 
way  expends  three  or  four  millions  per  annum.3  Naturally,  also, 
he  repairs  and  renews  his  furniture;  in  1778,  which  is  an 
average  year,  this  costs  him  1,936,853  livres.  Naturally,  also, 
he  takes  his  guests  along  with  him  and  defrays  their  expenses, 
they  and  their  attendants;  at  Choisy,  in  1780,  there  are  sixteen 
tables  with  three  hundred  and  forty-five  seats  besides  the  dis- 
tributions; at  Saint-Cloud,  in  1785,  there  are  twenty-six  tables; 
"  an  excursion  to  Marly  of  twenty-one  days  is  a  matter  of  1 20,  ooo 
livres  extra  expense;"  the  excursion  to  Fontainebleau  has  cost 
as  much  as  400,000  and  500,000  livres.  His  removals,  on  the 
average,  cost  half  a  million  and  more  per  annum.4  To  complete 
our  idea  of  this  immense  paraphernalia  it  must  be  borne  in 

1  D'Hezecques,  ibid.  212.  Under  Louis  XVI.  there  were  two  chair-carriers  to  the  king, 
who  came  every  morning,  in  velvet  coats  and  with  swords  by  their  sides,  to  inspect  and 
empty  the  object  of  their  functions;  this  post  was  worth  to  each  one  20,000  livres  per 
annum. 

*  In  1787,  Louis  XVI.  either  demolishes  or  orders  to  be  sold,  Madrid,  la  Muette  and  Choisy, 
kis  acquisitions,  however,  Saint-Cloud,  He-Adam  and  Rambouillet,  greatly  surpassing  his 
reforms. 

8  Necker,  " Compte-rendu,"  II.  452.  Archives  nationales,  O1,  736.  "La  Maison  du  roi 
justified"  (1789).  Constructions  in  1775,  3,924,400,  in  1786,  4,000,000,  in  1788,  3,077,000 
livres.  Furniture  in  1788,  1,700,000  livres. 

4  Here  are  some  of  the  casual  expenses.  (Archives  nationales,  O1,  2805).  On  the  birth 
of  the  Due  de  Bourgogne  in  1751,  604,477  h'vres.  For  the  Dauphin's  marriage  in  1770, 
1,267,770  livres.  For  the  marriage  of  the  Comte  d'Artois  in  1773,  2,016,221  livres.  For  th« 
coronation  in  1775,  835,862  livres.  For  plays,  concerts  and  balls  in  1778,  481,744  livres,  and 
m  J779»  382,986  livres. 

9 


98  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  n 

mind  that  the  artisans  and  merchants  belonging  to  these  vari- 
ous official  bodies  are  obliged,  through  the  privileges  they  en- 
joy, to  follow  the  court  "on  its  journeys  that  it  may  be  provided 
on  the  spot  with  apothecaries,  armorers,  gunsmiths,  sellers  of 
silker  and  woollen  hosiery,  butchers,  bakers,  embroiderers,  publi- 
cans, cobblers,  belt-makers,  candle-makers,  hatters,  pork-dealers, 
surgeons,  shoemakers,  curriers,  cooks,  pinkers,  gilders  and  en- 
gravers, spur-makers,  sweetmeat-dealers,  furbishers,  old-clothes 
brokers,  glove-perfumers,  watchmakers,  booksellers,  linen-drapers, 
wholesale  and  retail  wine-dealers,  carpenters,  coarse-jewelry 
haberdashers,  jewellers,  parchment-makers,  dealers  in  trimmings, 
chicken-roasters,  fish-dealers,  purveyors  of  hay,  straw  and  oats, 
hardware-sellers,  saddlers,  tailors,  gingerbread  and  starch-dealers, 
fruiterers,  dealers  in  glass  and  in  violins."1  One  might  call  it 
an  oriental  court  which,  to  be  set  in  motion,  moves  an  entire 
world:  "when  it  begins  to  move  one  has  to  take  the  post  in 
advance  to  go  anywhere."  The  total  is  near  4,000  persons  for  the 
king's  civil  household,  9,000  to  10,000  for  his  military  household, 
at  least  2,000  for  those  of  his  kindred,  in  all  15,000  individuals, 
at  an  expense  of  forty  and  fifty  millions  livres,  which  would 
be  equal  to  double  the  amount  to-day  and  which,  at  that  time, 
constituted  one-tenth  of  the  public  revenue.2  We  have  here  the 
central  figure  of  the  monarchical  show.  However  grand  and 
costly  it  may  be,  it  is  only  proportionate  to  its  purpose,  since  the 
court  is  a  public  institution  and  the  aristocracy,  with  nothing  to 
do,  devotes  itself  to  filling  up  the  king's  drawing-room. 

III. 

Two  causes  maintain  this  affluence,  one  the  feudal  form  still 
preserved,  and  the  other  the  new  centralization  just  introduced, 

1  Warroquier,  vol.  I.  ibid.  "Marie  Antoinette,"  by  d'Arneth  and  Geffrey.  Letter  of 
Mercy,  Sept  16,  1773.  "  The  multitude  of  people  of  various  occupations  following  th« 
king  on  his  travels  resembles  the  progress  of  an  army." 

•  The  civil  households  of  the  king,  queen,  and  Mme.  Elisabeth,  of  Mesdames,  and  Mme. 
Royale,  25,700,000.  To  the  king's  brothers  and  sisters-in-law,  8,040,000.  The  king's 
military  household,  7,681,000,  (Necker,  "  Compte-rendu,"  II.  119).  From  1774  to  1788  the 
expenditure  on  the  households  of  the  king  and  his  family  varies  from  32  to  36  millions,  not 
including  the  military  household,  ("  La  Maison  du  roi  justified  ").  In  1789  the  households  of 
the  king,  queen,  Dauphin,  royal  children  and  of  Mesdames,  cost  25,000,000.  Those  of 
Monsieur  and  Madame,  3,656,000 ;  those  of  the  Count  and  Countess  d'Artois,  3,656,000 ; 
those  of  the  Dukes  de  Bern  and  d'Angouleme,  700,000 ;  salaries  continued  to  persons  for 
merly  in  the  princes'  service,  228,000.  The  total  is  33,240,000.  To  this  must  be  added  the 
king's  military  household  and  two  millions  in  the  princes'  appanages.  (A  general  account 
of  fixed  Incomes  and  expenditure  on  the  first  of  May,  1789,  rendered  by  the  minister  of 
finances  to  the  committee  on  finances  of  the  National  Assembly.) 


CHAP.  i.  HABITS  AND  CHARACTERS.  99 

one  placing  the  royal  service  in  the  hands  of  the  nobles,  and  the 
other  converting  the  nobles  into  place-hunters. 

Through  the  duties  of  the  palace  the  highest  nobility  live 
with  the  king,  residing  under  his  roof;  the  grand-almoner  is 
M.  de  Montmorency-Laval,  bishop  of  Metz;  the  first  almoner 
is  M.  de  Bussu6jouls,  bishop  of  Senlis;  the  grand-master  of 
France  is  the  Prince  de  Cond6;  the  first  royal  butler  is  the 
Comte  d'Escars;  the  second  is  the  Marquis  de  Montdragon; 
the  master  of  the  pantry  is  the  Duke  de  Brissac ;  the  chief  cup- 
bearer is  the  Marquis  de  Verneuil ;  the  chief  carver  is  the  Mar- 
quis de  la  Chesnaye ;  the  first  gentlemen  of  the  bedchamber  are 
the  Dues  de  Richelieu,  de  Durfort,  de  Villequier,  and  de  Fleury ; 
the  grand-master  of  the  wardrobe  is  the  Due  de  la  Roche- 
foucauld-Liancourt ;  the  masters  of  the  wardrobe  are  the  Comte 
de  Boisgelin  and  the  Marquis  de  Chauvelin;  the  captain  of  the 
falconry  is  the  Chevalier  du  Forget;  the  captain  of  the  boar- 
hunt  is  the  Marquis  d'Ecquevilly ;  the  superintendent  of 
edifices  is  the  Comte  d'Angevillier ;  the  grand-equerry  is  the 
Prince  de  Lambesc;  the  master  of  the  hounds  is  the  Due  de 
Penthievre;  the  grand-master  of  ceremonies  is  the  Marquis  de 
Breze ;  the  grand-master  of  the  household  is  the  Marquis  de  la 
Suze;  the  captains  of  the  guards  are  the  Dues  d'Agen,  de  Vil- 
lery,  de  Brissac,  d'Aguillon,  and  de  Biron,  the  Princes  de  Poix, 
de  Luxembourg  and  de  Soubise ;  the  provost  of  the  hotel,  is  the 
Marquis  de  Tourzel;  the  governors  of  the  residences  and  cap- 
tains of  the  chase  are  the  Due  de  Noailles,  Marquis  de  Champ- 
cenetz,  Baron  de  Champlost,  Due  de  Coigny,  Comte  de  Modena, 
Comte  de  Montmorin,  Due  de  Laval,  Comte  de  Brienne,  Due 
d' Orleans,  and  the  Due  de  Gevres.1  All  these  seigniors  are  the 
king's  necessary  intimates,  his  permanent  guests  and  generally 
hereditary,  dwelling  under  his  roof,  in  close  and  daily  intercourse 
with  him  since  they  are  "his  folks"  (gens)*  and  perform  domestic 
service  about  his  person.  Add  to  these  their  equals,  as  noble 
and  nearly  as  numerous,  dwelling  with  the  queen,  with  Mes- 
dames,  with  Mme.  Elisabeth,  with  the  Comte  and  Comtesse  de 
Provence  and  the  Comte  and  Comtesse  d'Artois.  And  these 
are  only  the  heads  of  the  service ;  if,  below  them  in  rank  and 

1  Warroquier,  ibid.  (1789)  vol.  I.,  passim. 

*  An  expression  of  the  Comte  d'Artois  on  introducing  the  officers  of  his  household  to  hi* 
•rife. 


ioo  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  u 

office,  I  count  the  titular  nobles  I  find,  among  others,  68  al- 
moners or  chaplains,  170  gentlemen  of  the  bedchamber  or  ir 
waiting,  117  gentlemen  of  the  stable  or  of  the  hunting-train, 
148  pages,  114  titled  ladies  in  waiting,  besides  all  the  officers, 
even  to  the  smallest  of  the  military  household,  without  counting 
1,400  ordinary  guards  who,  verified  by  the  genealogist,  are  ad- 
mitted by  virtue  of  their  title  to  pay  their  court.1  Such  is  the 
fixed  body  of  recruits  for  the  royal  receptions ;  the  distinctive 
trait  of  this  regime  is  the  conversion  of  its  servants  into  guests, 
the  drawing-room  being  filled  from  the  anteroom. 

Not  that  the  drawing-room  needs  to  be  filled  in  this  manner. 
Being  the  source  of  all  preferment  and  of  every  favor,  it  is  nat- 
ural that  it  should  overflow ;  in  pur  levelling  society,  that  of  an 
insignificant  deputy,  or  of  a  mediocre  journalist,  or  of  a  fashion- 
able woman,  is  full  of  courtiers  under  the  name  of  friends  and 
visitors.  Moreover,  here,  to  be  present  is  an  obligation ;  it  might 
be  called  a  continuation  of  ancient  feudal  homage ;  the  staff  of 
nobles  is  maintained  as  the  retinue  of  its  born  general.  In  the 
language  of  the  day,  it  is  called  "  paying  one's  duty  to  the  king.'* 
Absence,  in  the  sovereign's  eyes,  would  be  a  sign  of  independence 
as  well  as  of  indifference,  while  submission  as  well  as  assiduity  is 
his  due.  In  this  respect  we  must  study  the  institution  from  the 
beginning.  The  eyes  of  Louis  XIV.  glance  around  at  every 
moment,  "on  arising  or  retiring,  on  passing  into  his  apart- 
ments, in  his  gardens,  .  .  .  nobody  escapes,  even  those  who 
hoped  they  were  not  seen ;  it  was  a  demerit  with  some,  and  the 
most  distinguished,  not  to  make  the  court  their  ordinary  sojourn, 
to  others  to  come  to  it  but  seldom,  and  certain  disgrace  to  those 
who  never,  or  nearly  never,  came."2  Henceforth,  the  main 
thing,  for  the  first  personages  in  the  kingdom,  men  and  women, 
ecclesiastics  and  laymen,  the  grand  affair,  the  first  duty  in  life,  the 
true  occupation,  is  to  be  at  all  hours  and  in  every  place  under  t'^e 
king's  eye,  within  reach  of  his  voice  and  of  his  glance.  "  Who- 
ever," says  La  Bruyere,  "considers  that  the  king's  countenance 
is  the  courtier's  supreme  felicity,  that  he  passes  his  life  looking  on 

1  The  number  of  light-horsemen  and  of  gendarmes  was  reduced  in  1775  and  in  1776;  both 
bodies  were  suppressed  in  1787. 

1  Saint-Simon,  "  Memoires,"  XVI.  456.  This  need  of  being  always  surrounded  continue* 
up  to  the  last  moment;  in  1791,  the  queen  exclaimed  bitterly,  speaking  of  the  nobility, 
"  when  any  proceeding  of  ours  displeases  them  they  are  sulky ;  no  one  comes  to  my  table 
the  king  retires  alone;  we  have  to  suffer  for  our  misfortunes."  Mme.  Campan,  II.  177. 


CHAP.  i.  HABITS  AND  CHARACTERS.  IOI 

it  and  within  sight  of  it,  will  comprehend  to  some  extent  how 
to  see  God,  constitutes  the  glory  and  happiness  of  the  saints." 
There  were  at  this  time  prodigies  of  voluntary  assiduity  and  sub- 
jection. The  Due  de  Fronsac,  every  morning  at  seven  o'clock, 
in  winter  and  in  summer,  stationed  himself,  at  his  father's  com- 
mand, at  the  foot  of  the  small  stairway  leading  to  the  chapel,  solely 
to  shake  hands  with  Mme.  de  Maintenon  on  her  leaving  for  St. 
Cyr. l  "Pardon  me,  Madame,"  writes  the  Due  de  Richelieu 
to  her,  "the  great  liberty  I  take  in  presuming  to  send  you  the 
letter  which  I  have  written  to  the  king,  begging  him  on  my 
knees  that  he  will  occasionally  allow  me  to  pay  my  court  to  him 
at  Ruel,  for  /  would  rather  die  than  pass  two  months  without  see- 
ing him"  The  true  courtier  follows  the  prince  as  a  shadow  fol- 
lows its  body;  such,  under  Louis  XIV.,  was  the  Due  de  la 
Rochefoucauld,  the  master  of  the  hounds.  "  He  never  missed 
the  king's  rising  or  retiring,  both  changes  of  dress  every  day,  the 
hunts  and  the  promenades,  likewise  every  day,  for  ten  years  in 
succession,  never  sleeping  away  from  the  place  where  the  king 
rested,  and  yet  on  a  footing  to  demand  leave, — but  not  to  stay  away 
all  night,  for  he  had  not  slept  out  of  Paris  once  in  forty  years, — but 
to  go  and  dine  away  from  the  court,  and  not  be  present  on  the 
promenade."  If,  later,  and  under  less  exacting  masters,  and  in 
the  general  laxity  of  the  eighteenth  century,  this  discipline  is 
relaxed,  the  institution  nevertheless  subsists;2  in  default  of 
obedience,  tradition,  interest  and  amour-propre  suffice  for  the 
people  of  the  court.  To  approach  the  king,  to  be  a  domestic  in 
his  household,  an  usher,  a  cloak-bearer,  a  valet,  is  a  privilege 
that  is  purchased,  even  in  1789,  for  thirty,  forty,  and  a  hun- 
dred thousand  livres;  so  much  greater  the  reason  why  it  is  a 
privilege  to  form  a  part  of  his  society,  the  most  honorable,  the 
most  useful,  and  the  most  coveted  of  all.  In  the  first  place,  it  is 
a  proof  of  race.  A  man,  to  follow  the  king  in  the  chase,  and  a 
woman,  to  be  presented  to  the  queen,  must  previously  satisfy  the 
genealogist,  and  by  authentic  documents,  that  his  or  her  nobility 
goes  back  to  the  year  1400.  In  the  next  place,  it  ensures  good 
fortune.  This  drawing-room  is  the  only  place  within  reach 

1  Due  de  Le'vis,  "Souvenirs  et  Portraits,"  29.      Mme.  de  Mainltaon,  "Correspondance." 

2  M.  de  V who  was  promised  a  king's  lieutenancy  or  command  yields  it  to  one  of 

Mme.  de  Pompadour's  protege's,  obtaining  in  lieu  of  it  the  part  of  exempt  in  "Tartuffe, 
played  by  the  seigniors  before  the  king  in  the  small  cabinet      (Mme.  de  Hausset,  168) 
"  M.  de  V    —  thanked  Madame  as  if  she  had  made  him  a  duke." 

9* 


102  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  a. 

of  royal  favors;  accordingly,  up  to  1789,  the  great  families  nevei 
stir  away  from  Versailles,  and  day  and  night  they  lay  in  am- 
bush. The  valet  of  the  Marshal  de  Noailles  says  to  him  one 
night  on  closing  his  curtains,  "At  what  hour  will  Monseigneui 
be  awakened?"  "At  ten  o'clock,  if  no  one  dies  during  the 
night."1  Old  courtiers  are  again  found  who,  "eighty  years  of 
age,  have  passed  forty-five  on  their  feet  in  the  antechambers  of 
the  king,  of  the  princes,  and  of  the  ministers.  .  .  .  You  have 
ovJy  three  things  to  do,"  says  one  of  them  to  a  debutant,  "speak 
well  of  everybody,  ask  for  every  vacancy,  and  sit  down  when 
you  can."  Hence,  the  king  always  has  a  crowd  around  him. 
The  Comtesse  du  Barry  says,  on  presenting  her  niece  at  court, 
the  first  of  August,  1773,  "the  crowd  is  so  great  at  a  presenta- 
tion, one  can  scarcely  get  through  the  antechambers."  2  In  De- 
cember, 1774,  at  Fontainebleau,  when  the  queen  plays  at  her 
own  table  every  evening,  "the  apartment,  though  vast,  is  never 
empty.  .  .  .  The  crowd  is  so  great  that  one  can  talk  only  to  the 
two  or  three  persons  with  whom  one  is  playing."  The  fourteen 
apartments,  at  the  receptions  of  ambassadors  are  full  to  over- 
flowing with  seigniors  and  richly  dressed  women.  On  the  first 
of  January,  1775,  the  queen  "counted  over  two  hundred  ladies 
presented  to  her  to  pay  their  court."  In  1780,  at  Choisy,  a 
table  for  thirty  persons  is  spread  every  day  for  the  king,  another 
with  thirty  places  for  the  seigniors,  another  with  forty  places  for 
the  officers  of  the  guard  and  the  eque.  ries,  and  one  with  fifty  for 
the  officers  of  the  bedchamber.  According  to  my  estimate,  the 
king,  on  getting  up  and  on  retiring,  on  his  walks,  on  his  hunts 
at  play,  has  always  around  him  at  least  forty  or  fifty  seigniors 
and,  generally,  a  hundred,  with  as  many  ladies,  besides  his  at- 
tendants on  duty;  at  Fontainebleau,  in  1756,  although  "there 
were  neither  fetes  nor  ballets  this  year,  one  hundred  and  six  ladies 
were  counted."  When  the  king  holds  a  "grand  appartement" 
when  play  or  dancing  takes  place  in  the  gallery  of  mirrors,  four 
or  five  hundred  guests,  the  elect  of  the  nobles  and  of  the  fashion, 

1  "  Paris,  Versailles  et  les  provinces  au  dix-huitieme  siecle,"  II.  160,  168.  Mercier, 
"  Tableau  de  Paris,"  IV.  150.  De  S6gur,  "  M£moires,"  I.  16. 

*"  Marie  Antoinette,"  by  D'Arneth  and  Geffiroy,  II.  27,  255,  281.  "Gustave  III."  by 
Geffroy,  November,  1786,  bulletin  of  Mme.  de  Stael.  D'H£zecques,  ibid.  231.  Archive* 
nationales,  O1,  736,  a  letter  by  M.  Amelot,  September  23,  1780.  De  Luynes,  XV.  260,  367; 
XVI.  248.  163  ladies,  of  which  4)  are  in  service,  appear  and  courtesy  to  the  king.  160  me* 
ind  more  than  100  ladies  pay  theii  respects  to  the  Dauphin  and  Dauphine. 


CHAV.  i.  HABITS  AND  CHARACTERS.  103 

range  themselves  on  the  benches  or  gather  around  the  card  and 
cavagnole  tables.1  This  is  a  spectacle  to  be  seen,  not  by  the  im- 
agination, or  through  imperfect  records,  but  with  our  own  eyes 
and  on  the  spot,  to  comprehend  the  spirit,  the  effect  and  the 
triumph  of  monarchical  culture.  In  an  elegantly  furnished  house, 
the  dining-room  is  the  principal  room,  and  never  was  one  more 
dazzling  than  this.  Suspended  from  the  sculptured  ceiling 
peopled  with  sporting  cupids,  descend,  by  garlands  of  flowers 
and  foliage,  blazing  chandeliers,  whose  splendor  is  enhanced 
by  the  tall  mirrors ;  the  light  streams  down  in  floods  on  gildings, 
diamonds,  and  beaming,  arch  physiognomies,  on  fine  busts, 
and  on  the  capacious,  sparkling  and  garlanded  dresses.  The 
skirts  of  the  ladies  ranged  in  a  circle,  or  in  tiers  on  the  benches, 
"form  a  rich  espalier  covered  with  pearls,  gold,  silver,  jewels, 
spangles,  flowers  and  fruits,  with  their  artificial  blossoms,  goose- 
berries, cherries,  and  strawberries,"  a  gigantic  animated  bouquet 
of  which  the  eye  can  scarcely  support  the  brilliancy.  There  are 
no  black  coats,  as  nowadays,  to  disturb  the  harmony.  With 
the  hair  powdered  and  dressed,  with  buckles  and  knots,  with 
cravats  and  ruffles  of  lace,  in  silk  coats  and  vests  of  the  hues  of 
fallen  leaves,  or  of  a  delicate  rose  tint,  or  of  celestial  blue,  em- 
bellished with  gold  braid  and  embroidery,  the  men  are  as  ele- 
gant as  the  women.  Men  and  women,  each  is  a  selection ;  they 
are  all  of  the  accomplished  class,  gifted  with  every  grace  which 
race,  education,  fortune,  leisure  and  custom  can  bestow;  they 
are  perfect  of  their  kind.  There  is  not  a  toilet  here,  an  air  of 
the  head,  a  tone  of  the  voice,  an  expression  in  language  which 
is  not  a  masterpiece  of  worldly  culture,  the  distilled  quintessence 
of  all  that  is  exquisitely  elaborated  by  social  art.  Polished  as  the 
society  of  Paris  may  be,  it  does  not  approach  this ; 2  compared 
with  the  court,  it  seems  provincial.  It  is  said  that  a  hundred 
thousand  roses  are  required  to  make  an  ounce  of  the  unique 
perfume  used  by  Persian  kings ;  such  is  this  drawing-room,  the 
frail  vial  of  crystal  and  gold  containing  the  substance  of  a 
human  vegetation.  To  fill  it,  a  great  aristocracy  had  to  be 
transplanted  to  a  hot-house  and  become  sterile  in  fruit  and 

'  Cochin.  Engravings  of  a  masked  ball,  of  a  dress  ball,  of  the  king  and  queen  at  play,  of 
tfie  interior  of  a  theatre  (1745).  Costumes  of  Moreau  (1777).  Mme.  de  Genlis,  "Diction 
naire  des  etiquettes,"  the  article  fantre. 

1  "  The  difference  between  the  tone  and  language  of  the  court  and  the  town  was  about  as 
perceptible  as  that  between  Pari»  and  the  provinces."  (De  Tilly,  "  Memoires,"  I.  153.) 


104  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  n. 

flowers,  and  then,  in  the  royal  alembic,  its  pure  sap  is  concen- 
trated into  a  few  drops  of  aroma.  The  price  is  excessive,  but 
only  at  this  price  can  the  most  delicate  perfumes  be  manufact 
vrred. 

IV. 

An  operation  of  this  kind  absorbs  him  who  undertakes  it  as 
well  as  those  who  undergo  it.  A  nobility  for  useful  purposes 
is  not  transformed  with  impunity  into  a  nobility  for  ornament;1 
one  becomes  himself  a  part  of  the  show  which  takes  the 
place  of  action.  The  king  has  a  court  which  he  is  com- 
pelled to  maintain.  So  much  the  worse  if  it  absorbs  all 
his  time,  his  intellect,  his  soul,  the  most  valuable  portion 
of  his  active  forces  and  the  forces  of  the  State.  To  be 
the  master  of  a  house  is  not  an  easy  task,  especially  when 
five  hundred  persons  are  to  be  entertained ;  one  must 
necessarily  pass  his  life  in  public  and  be  on  exhibition. 
Strictly  speaking  it  is  the  life  of  an  actor  who  is  on  the  stage  the 
entire  day.  To  support  this  load,  and  work  besides,  required  the 
temperament  of  Louis  XIV.,  the  vigor  of  his  body,  the  extraor- 
dinary firmness  of  his  nerves,  the  strength  of  his  digestion,  and 
the  regularity  of  his  habits;  his  successors  who  come  after  him 
grow  weary  or  stagger  under  the  same  load.  But  they  cannot 
throw  it  off;  an  incessant,  daily  performance  is  inseparable  from 
their  position  and  it  is  imposed  on  them  like  a  heavy,  gilded, 
ceremonial  coat.  The  king  is  expected  to  keep  the  entire  aris- 
tocracy busy,  consequently  to  make  a  display  of  himself,  to  pay 
back  with  his  own  person,  at  all  hours,  even  the  most  private, 
even  on  getting  out  of  bed,  and  even  in  his  bed.  In  the 
morning,  at  the  hour  named  by  himself  beforehand,2  the  head 

1  The  following  is  an  example  of  the  compulsory  inactivity  of  the  nobles — a  dinner  of 
Queen  Marie  Leezinska  at  Fontainebleau :  "  I  was  introduced  into  a  superb  saloon  where  I 
found  about  a  dozen  courtiers  promenading  about  and  a  table  set  for  as  many  persons,  which 
was  nevertheless  prepared  for  but  one  person.  .  .  .  The  queen  sat  down  while  the  twelve 
courtiers  took  their  positions  in  a  semi-circle  ten  steps  from  the  table ;  I  stood  alongside  if 
them  imitating  their  deferential  silence.  Her  Majesty  began  to  eat  very  fast,  keeping  her 
eyes  fixed  on  the  plate.  Finding  one  of  the  dishes  to  her  taste  she  returned  to  it,  and  then, 
running  her  eye  around  the  circle,  she  said :  "  Monsieur  de  Lowenthal  ?  "  On  hearing  thi* 
name  a  fine-looking  man  advanced,  bowing,  and  he  replied,  " Madame ? "  "I  find  tiiat 
this  ragout  is  fricasee  chicken."  "I  believe  it  is,  Madame."  On  making  this  answer,  in 
the  gravest  manner,  the  marshal,  retiring  backwards,  resumed  his  position,  while  the  queen 
finished  her  dinner,  never  uttering  another  word  and  going  back  to  her  room  the  same  way 
as  she  came."  (Memoirs  of  Casenova.) 

8  "  Under  Louis  XVI  ,  who  arose  at  seven  or  eight  o'clock,  th«  Itver  took  place  at  hall- 
past  eleven  unless  hunting  or  ceremonies  required  it  earlier."  There  is  the  same  ceremonia. 
at  eleven,  again  in  the  evening  on  retiring,  and  also  during  the  day,  when  he  change*  hli 
loots.  (D'Hfeecques,  pi 


CHAP.  i.  HABITS  AND  CHARACTERS.  105 

valet  awakens  him ;  five  series  of  persons  enter  in  turn  to  perform 
their  duty,  and,  "  although  very  large,  there  are  days  when  the 
waiting-rooms  can  hardly  contain  the  crowd  of  courtiers."  The 
first  one  admitted  is  "  V entree  familiere, "  consisting  of  the  chil- 
dren of  France,  the  princes  and  princesses  of  the  blood,  and, 
besides  these,  the  chief  physician,  the  chief  surgeon  and  other 
serviceable  persons.1  Next,  comes  the  "grande  entree"  which 
comprises  the  grand-chamberlain,  the  grand-master  and  mastet 
of  the  wardrobe,  the  first  gentlemen  of  the  bedchamber,  the 
Dukes  of  Orleans  and  Penthievre,  some  other  highly  fivored 
seigniors,  the  ladies  of  honor  and  in  waiting  of  the  queen, 
Mesdames  and  other  princesses,  without  enumerating  barbers, 
tailors  and  various  descriptions  of  valets.  Meanwhile  spirits  of 
wine  are  poured  on  the  king's  hands  from  a  service  of  plate,  and 
he  is  then  handed  the  basin  of  holy  water;  he  crosses  himself 
and  repeats  a  prayer.  Then  he  gets  out  of  bed  before  all  these 
people  and  puts  on  his  slippers.  The  grand-chamberlain  and 
the  first  gentleman  hand  him  his  dressing-gown;  he  puts  this  on 
and  seats  himself  in  the  chair  in  which  he  is  to  put  on  his  clothes. 
At  this  moment  the  door  opens  and  a  third  group  enters,  which 
is  the  "entree  des  brevets;"  the  seigniors  who  compose  this  enjoy, 
in  addition,  the  precious  privilege  of  assisting  at  the  "petitt 
coucher, "  while,  at  the  same  moment  there  enters  a  detachment 
of  attendants,  consisting  of  the  physicians  and  surgeons  in  ordi- 
nary, the  intendants  of  the  amusements,  readers  and  others,  and 
among  the  latter  those  who  preside  over  physical  requirements ; 
the  publicity  of  a  royal  life  is  so  great  that  none  of  its  functions 
can  be  exercised  without  witnesses.  At  the  moment  of  the 
approach  of  the  officers  of  the  wardrobe  to  dress  him  <~he  first 
gentleman,  notified  by  an  usher,  advances  to  read  to  tne  king  the 
names  of  the  grandees  who  are  waiting  at  the  door:  this  is 
the  fourth  entry  called  "la  chambre,"  and  larger  than  thobc  pre- 
ceding it;  for,  not  to  mention  the  cloak-bearers,  gun-bearers, 
rug-bearers  and  other  valets,  it  comprises  most  of  the  superior 
officials,  the  grand-almoner,  the  almoners  on  duty,  the  chaplain, 
the  master  of  the  oratory,  the  captain  and  major  of  the  body- 
'guard,  the  colonel-general  and  major  of  the  French  guards,  the 
colonel  of  the  king's  regiment,  the  captain  of  the  Cent  Suisses, 

1  Warroquier,  I.  94.     Compare  corresponding  details  under  Louis  XVI.  in   St  Siiaso, 
Kill.  88. 


106  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  n 

the  grand-huntsman,  the  grand  wolf-huntsman,  the  grand 
provost,  the  grand-master  and  master  of  ceremonies,  the  firs 
butler,  the  grand-master  of  the  pantry,  the  foreign  ambassa- 
dors, the  ministers  and  secretaries  of  state,  the  marshals  of 
France  and  most  of  the  seigniors  and  prelates  of  distinction. 
Ushers  place  the  ranks  in  order  and,  if  necessary,  impose  silence. 
Meanwhile  the  king  washes  his  hands  and  begins  his  toilet 
Two  pages  remove  his  slippers;  the  grand-master  of  the  wardrob* 
draws  off  his  night-shirt  by  the  right  arm,  and  the  first  valet  of  the 
wardrobe  by  the  left  arm,  and  both  of  them  hand  it  to  an  officer  of 
the  wardrobe,  whilst  a  valet  of  the  wardrobe  fetches  the  shirt 
wrapped  up  in  white  taffeta.  Things  have  now  reached  the  solemn 
point,  the  culmination  of  the  ceremony;  the  fifth  entry  has  been 
introduced  and,  in  a  few  moments,  after  the  king  has  put  his 
shirt  on,  all  that  is  left  of  those  who  are  known,  with  other  house- 
hold officers  waiting  in  the  gallery,  complete  the  influx.  There  is 
quite  a  formality  in  regard  to  this  shirt.  The  honor  of  handing 
it  is  reserved  to  the  sons  and  grandsons  of  France;  in  default  of 
these  to  the  princes  of  the  blood  or  those  legitimated;  in  their 
default  to  the  grand-chamberlain  or  to  the  first  gentleman  of  the 
bedchamber; — the  latter  case,  it  must  be  observed,  being  very 
/are,  the  princes  being  obliged  to  be  present  at  the  king's  lever 
as  well  as  the  princesses  at  that  of  the  queen.1  At  last  the  shirt 
is  presented  and  a  valet  carries  off  the  old  one;  the  first  valet  of 
the  wardrobe  and  the  first  valet-de-chambre  hold  the  fresh  one, 
each  by  a  right  and  left  arm  respectively,2  while  two  other  valets, 
during  this  operation,  extend  his  dressing-gown  in  front  of  him 
to  serve  as  a  screen.  The  shirt  is  now  on  his  back  and  the 
toilet  commences.  A  valet-de-chambre  supports  a  mirror  be- 
fore the  king  while  two  others  on  the  two  sides  light  it  up,  if 
occasion  requires,  with  flambeaux.  Valets  of  the  wardrobe  fetch 
the  rest  of  the  attire;  the  grand-master  of  the  wardrobe  puts  the 
vest  on  and  the  doublet,  attaches  the  blue  ribbon,  and  clasps 
his  sword  around  him;  then  a  valet  assigned  to  the  cravats  brings 
several  of  these  in  a  basket,  while  the  master  of  the  wardrobe 
arranges  around  the  king's  neck  that  which  the  king  selects 
After  this  a  valet  assigned  to  the  handkerchiefs  brings  three  of 

1  "  Marie  Antoinette,"  by  d'Arneth  and  Geflroy,  II.  217. 

*  In  all  changes  of  the  coat  the  left  arm  of  the  king  is  appropriated  to  the  wardrobe  and 
'he  right  arm  to  the  "  chambre." 


CHAP.  I.  HABITS  AND  CHARACTERS.  107 

these  on  a  silver  salver,  while  the  grand-master  of  the  wardrobe 
offers  the  salver  to  the  king  who  chooses  one.  Finally  the  master 
of  the  wardrobe  hands  to  the  king  his  hat,  his  gloves  and  his 
cane.  The  king  then  steps  to  the  side  of  the  bed,  kneels  on  a 
cushion  and  says  his  prayers  whilst  an  almoner  in  a  low  voice 
recites  the  orison  qucesumus,  deus  omnipotens.  This  done,  the 
king  announces  the  order  of  the  day  and  passes  with  the  leading 
persons  of  his  court  into  his  cabinet  where  he  sometimes  gives 
audience.  Meanwhile  the  rest  of  the  company  await  him  in  th« 
gallery  in  order  to  accompany  him  to  mass  when  he  comes  out 
Such  is  the  lever,  a  piece  in  five  acts.  Nothing  could  be  con- 
trived better  calculated  to  fill  up  the  void  of  an  aristocratic  life ; 
a  hundred  or  thereabouts  of  notable  seigniors  dispose  of  a  couple 
of  hours  in  coming,  in  waiting,  in  entering,  in  defiling,  in  taking 
positions,  in  standing  on  their  feet,  in  maintaining  an  air  of 
respeot  and  of  ease  suitable  to  a  superior  class  of  walking  gen- 
tlemen, while  those  best  qualified  are  about  to  do  the  same  thing 
over  in  the  queen's  apartment.1  The  king,  however,  to  offset 
this  suffers  the  same  torture  and  the  same  inaction  as  he  imposes. 
He  also  is  playing  a  part ;  all  his  steps  and  all  his  gestures  have 
been  determined  beforehand;  he  has  been  obliged  to  arrange 
his  physiognomy  and  his  voice,  never  to  depart  from  an  affable 
and  dignified  air,  to  award  judiciously  his  glances  and  his  nods, 
to  keep  silent  or  to  speak  only  of  the  chase,  and  to  suppress  his 
own  thoughts,  if  he  has  any.  One  cannot  indulge  in  revery, 
meditate  or  be  absent-minded  when  one  is  before  the  footlights ; 
the  part  must  have  due  attention.  Besides,  in  a  drawing-room 
there  is  only  drawing-room  conversation,  and  the  master's 
thoughts,  instead  of  being  directed  in  a  profitable  channel,  must 
be  scattered  about  as  if  the  holy  water  of  the  court.  All  hours 
of  the  day  are  thus  occupied,  except  three  or  four  in  the  morning, 
during  which  he  is  at  the  council  or  in  his  private  room;  it  must 

1  rije  queen  breakfasts  in  bed,  and  "there  are  ten  or  twelve  persons  present  at  this  recep- 
tion," .  .  .  the  grand  receptions  taking  place  at  the  dressing  hour.  "  This  reception  com- 
prised the  princes  of  the  blood,  the  captains  of  the  guards  and  most  of  the  grand-officers." 
The  same  ceremony  occurs  with  the  chemise  as  with  the  king's  shirt.  One  winter  uay 
Mme.  Campan  offers  the  chemise  to  the  queen  when  a  lady  of  honor  enters,  removes  her 
gloTes  and  takes  the  chemise  in  her  hands.  A  movement  at  the  door  and  the  Duchess  of 
Orleans  comes  in,  takes  off  her  gloves  aid  she  receives  the  chemise.  Another  movemenl 
and  it  is  the  Comtesse  d'Artois  whose  privilege  it  is  to  hand  the  chemise.  Meanwhile  th« 
queen  sits  there  shivering  with  her  arms  crossed  on  her  breast  and  muttering,  "  It  is  dreadful 
what  importunity !"  (Mme.  Campan,  II.  217;  III.  309-316). 


foS  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  n. 

be  noted,  too,  that  on  the  days  after  his  hunts,  on  returning  home 
from  Rambouillet  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  he  must  sleep 
the  few  hours  he  has  left  to  him.  The  ambassador  Mercy,1  never- 
theless, a  man  of  close  application,  seems  to  think  it  sufficient; 
he,  at  least,  thinks  that  "  Louis  XVI.  is  a  man  of  order,  losing  n<l 
time  in  useless  things;"  his  predecessor,  indeed,  worked  much 
less,  scarcely  an  hour  a  day.  Three-quarters  of  his  time  is  thus 
given  up  to  show.  The  same  retinue  surrounds  him  when  he 
puts  on  his  boots,  when  he  takes  them  off,  when  he  changes  his 
clothes  to  mount  his  horse,  when  he  returns  home  to  dress  for 
the  evening  and  when  he  goes  to  his  room  at  night  to  retire. 
"  Every  evening  for  six  years,  says  a  page,2  either  myself  or  one 
of  my  comrades,  has  seen  Louis  XVI.  get  into  bed  in  public," 
with  the  ceremonial  just  described.  "  It  was  not  omitted  ten  times 
to  my  knowledge,  and  then  accidentally  or  through  indisposition." 
The  attendance  is  yet  more  numerous  when  he  dines  and  takes 
supper;  for,  besides  men  there  are  women  present,  duchesses 
seated  on  the  folding-chairs,  also  others  standing  around  the  table. 
It  is  needless  to  state  that  in  the  evening  when  he  plays,  or  gives 
a  ball,  or  a  concert,  the  crowd  rushes  in  and  overflows.  When 
he  hunts,  besides  the  ladies  on  horses  and  in  vehicles,  besides 
officers  of  the  hunt,  of  the  guards,  the  equerry,  the  cloak -bearer, 
gun-bearer,  surgeon,  bone-setter,  lunch-bearer  and  I  know  not 
how  many  others,  all  the  gentlemen  who  accompany  him  are 
his  permanent  guests.  And  do  not  imagine  that  this  suite  is  a 
small  one ; 3  the  day  M.  de  Chateaubriand  is  presented  there  are 
four  fresh  additions,  and  "  with  the  utmost  punctuality "  all  the 
young  men  of  high  rank  join  the  king's  retinue  two  or  three 
times  a  week.  Not  only  the  eight  or  ten  scenes  which  compose 
each  of  these  days,  but  again  the  short  intervals  between  the 
scenes  are  besieged  and  carried.  People  watch  for  him,  walk  by 
his  side  and  speak  with  him  on  his  way  from  his  cabinet  to  the 
chapel,  between  his  apartment  and  his  carriage,  between  his 
carriage  and  his  apartment,  between  his  cabinet  and  his  dining- 
room.  And  still  more,  his  life  behind  the  scenes  belongs  to  the 
public.  If  he  is  indisposed  and  broth  is  brought  to  him,  if  he 

1  "Marie  Antoinette,"  by  d'Arneth  and  Geflroy,  II.  223  (August  15,  1774). 

a  D'H&zecques,  ibid,  p.  7. 

*  Due  de  Lauzun,  "  M6moires,"  51.  Mme.  de  Genlis,  "  M£moires,"  ch.  XII.  "  Oul 
nusbands,  regularly  on  that  day  (Saturday)  slept  at  Versailles  to  hunt  the  next  day  with 
the  kin  e." 


CHAP.  L  HABITS  AND  CHARACTERS.  109 

is  ill  and  medicine  is  handed  to  him,  "a  servant  immediately  sum- 
mons the  lgrande  entree.'"  Verily,  the  king  resembles  an  oak 
stifled  by  the  innumerable  creepers  which,  from  top  to  bottom, 
cling  to  its  trunk.  Under  a  regime  of  '•.his  stamp  there  is  a  want 
of  air;  some  opening  has  to  be  found;  Louis  XV.  availed  him- 
self of  the  chase  and  of  suppers ;  Louis  XVI.  of  the  chase  and 
of  lock-making.  And  I  have  not  mentioned  the  infinite  detail 
of  etiquette,  the  extraordinary  ceremonial  of  the  state  dinner, 
the  fifteen,  twenty  and  thirty  beings  busy  around  the  king's 
plates  and  glasses,  the  sacramental  utterances  of  the  occasion, 
the  procession  of  the  retinue,  the  arrival  of  "  la  nef"  "  Fessai  des 
plats"  all  as  if  in  a  Byzantine  or  Chinese  court.1  On  Sundays 
the  entire  public,  the  public  in  general,  is  admitted,  and  this  is 
called  the  "  grand  convert"  as  complex  and  as  solemn  as  a  high 
mass.  Accordingly,  eating,  drinking,  getting  up,  and  going  to 
bed,  is  to  a  descendant  of  Louis  XIV.,  to  officiate.2  Frederick  II. , 
on  hearing  an  explanation  of  this  etiquette,  declared  that  if  he  were 
king  of  France  his  first  edict  would  be  to  appoint  another  king 
to  hold  court  in  his  place.  In  effect,  if  there  are  idlers  to  salute 
there  must  be  an  idler  to  be  saluted.  Only  one  way  was  possi- 
ble by  which  the  monarch  could  have  been  set  free  and  that  was 
to  have  recast  and  transformed  the  French  nobles  according  to 
the  Prussian  system  into  a  hard-working  regiment  of  serviceable 
functionaries.  But  so  long  as  the  court  remains  what  it  is,  that 
is  to  say,  a  pompous  parade  and  a  drawing-room  decoration,  the 
king  himself  must  likewise  form  a  showy  decoration  of  little  use 
or  of  none  at  all. 

V. 

In  short,  what  is  the  occupation  of  a  well-qualified  master  of 
a  house  ?  He  amuses  himself  and  he  amuses  his  guests ;  under 
his  roof  a  new  pleasure-party  comes  off  daily.  Let  us  enumer- 
ate those  of  a  week.  "Yesterday,  Sunday,"  says  the  Due  de 
Luynes,  "I  met  the  king  going  to  hunt  on  the  plain  of  St. 

1  The  state  dinner  takes  place  every  Sunday.  La  nef  is  a  piece  of  plate  at  the  centre  of 
the  table  containing  between  scented  cushions  the  napk  ns  used  by  the  king.  The  essai  is 
the  tasting  of  each  dish  by  the  gentlemen  servants  and  officers  of  the  table  before  the  king 
partakes  of  it  And  the  same  with  the  beverages.  It  requires  four  persons  to  serve  th« 
king  with  a  glass  of  wine  and  water. 

*  When  the  ladies  of  the  king's  court,  and  especially  the  princesses,  pass  before  the  king's 
bed  they  have  to  make  an  obeisance ;  the  palace  officials  salute  the  nef  on  passing  that     A 
priest  or  sacristan  does  the  same  thing  on  passing  before  the  altar. 
10 


no  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  u 

Denis,  having  slept  at  la  Muette,  where  he  intends  to  remain 
shooting  to-day  and  to-morrow,  and  to  return  here  on  Tuesday 
or  Wednesday  morning  to  run  down  a  stag  the  same  day, 
Wednesday." l  Two  months  after  this,  "  the  king,"  again  says 
M.  de  Luynes,  "has  been  hunting  every  day  of  the  past  and  of 
the  present  week,  except  to-day  and  on  Sundays,  killing,  since 
the  beginning,  three  thousand  five  hundred  partridges."  He  is 
always  on  the  road,  or  hunting,  or  passing  from  one  residence 
to  another,  from  Versailles  to  Fontainebleau,  to  Choisy,  to 
Marly,  to  la  Muette,  to  Compiegne,  to  Trianon,  to  Saint-Hubert 
to  Bellevue,  to  Rambouillet,  and,  generally,  with  his  en  the 
court.2  At  Choisy,  especially,  and  at  Fontainebleau  this  com- 
pany all  lead  a  merry  life.  At  Fontainebleau  "Sunday  and 
Friday,  play ;  Monday  and  Wednesday,  a  concert  in  the  queen's 
apartments;  Tuesday  and  Thursday,  the  French  comedians; 
and  Saturday  it  is  the  Italians ; "  there  is  something  for  every 
day  hi  the  week.  At  Choisy,  writes  the  Dauphine,3  "from  one 
o'clock  (in  the  afternoon)  when  we  dine,  to  one  o'clock  at  night 
we  remain  out.  .  .  .  After  dining  we  play  until  six  o'clock,  after 
which  we  go  to  the  theatre,  which  lasts  until  half-past  nine 
o'clock,  and  next,  to  supper;  after  this,  play  again,  until  one, 
and  sometimes  half-past  one,  o'clock."  At  Versailles  things 
are  more  moderate ;  there  are  but  two  theatrical  entertainments 
and  one  ball  a  week;  but  every  evening  there  is  play  and 
a  reception  in  the  king's  apartment,  in  his  daughters',  in  his 
mistress's,  in  his  daughter-in-law's,  besides  hunts  and  three  petty 
excursions  per  week.  Records  show  that,  in  a  certain  year, 
Louis  XV.  slept  only  fifty-two  nights  at  Versailles,  while  the 
Austrian  Ambassador  well  says  that  "  his  mode  of  living  leaves 
him  not  an  hour  in  the  day  for  attention  to  important  matters." 
As  to  Louis  XVI.,  we  have  seen  that  he  reserves  a  few  hours  of 
the  morning;  but  the  machine  is  wound  up  and  go  it  must. 
How  can  he  withdraw  himself  from  his  guests  and  not  do 

1  De  Luynes,  IX,  75,  79, 105  (August,  1748,  October,  1748). 

1  The  king  is  at  Marly,  and  here  is  a  list  of  the  excursions  he  is  to  make  before  going  t« 
Compiegne  (De  Luynes,  XIV,  163,  May,  1755) :  "  Sunday,  June  ist,  to  Choisy  until  Mon- 
day evening.  Tuesday,  the  $d,  to  Trianon,  until  Wednesday.  Thursday,  the  5th,  return 
to  Trianon  where  he  will  remain  lintil  after  supper  on  Saturday.  Monday,  the  gth,  to 
Crecy,  until  Friday,  isth.  Return,  to  Crecy  the  i6th,  until  the  2ist.  July  ist  to  la  Muette 
the  2d,  to  Compiegne." 

3  "  Marie  Antoinette,"  by  d'Arneth  and  Gsflroy,  I.  19  (July  12,  1770).  I.  265  (January  23 
1771).  I.  III.  (October  18,  1770). 


CHAP.  I.  HABITS  AND  CHARACTERS.  ill 

the  honors  of  his  house  ?  Moreover,  propriety  and  custom  are 
despotic ;  a  third  despotism  must  be  added,  still  more  absolute, 
the  imperious  vivacity  of  a  frolicsome  young  queen  who  cannot 
endure  an  hour's  reading.  At  Versailles,  three  theatrical  entsi- 
tainments  and  two  balls  a  week,  two  grand  suppers  Tuesday  end 
Thursday,  and  from  time  to  time,  the  opera  in  Paris.1  At 
Fontainebleau,  the  theatre  three  times  a  week  and  on  other 
days,  play  and  suppers.  During  the  following  winter  the  queen 
gives  a  masked  ball  each  week,  in  which  "the  contrivance 
of  the  costumes,  the  quadrilles  arranged  in  ballets,  and  the 
daily  rehearsals,  take  so  much  time  as  to  consume  the  entire 
week."  During  the  carnival  of  1777  the  queen,  besides  her 
own  f£tes,  attends  the  balls  of  the  Palais-Royal  and  the  masked 
balls  of  the  opera;  a  little  later,  I  find  another  ball  at  the 
abode  of  the  Comtesse  Diana  de  Polignac,  which  she  attends 
with  the  whole  royal  family,  except  Mesdames,  and  which  lasts 
from  half-past  eleven  o'clock  at  night  until  eleven  o'clock  the 
next  morning.  Meanwhile,  on  ordinary  days,  there  is  the  rage 
of  faro ;  in  her  drawing-room  "  there  is  no  limit  to  the  play ; 
in  one  evening  the  Due  de  Chartres  loses  eight  thousand  louis. 
It  really  resembles  an  Italian  carnival ;  there  is  nothing  lacking, 
neither  masks  nor  the  comedy  of  private  life;  they  play,  they 
laugh,  they  dance,  they  dine,  they  listen  to  music,  they  don 
costumes,  they  get  up  picnics  (fetes-champetres),  they  indulge  in 
gossip  and  gallantries."  "The  newest  song,"2  says  a  cultivated, 
earnest  lady  of  the  bedchamber,  "the  current  witticism,  and 
little  scandalous  stories  formed  the  sole  subjects  of  conversation 
in  the  queen's  circle  of  intimates."  As  to  the  king,  who  is, 
rather  dull  and  who  requires  physical  exercise,  the  chase  is 
his  most  important  occupation.  Between  1755  and  1789?  he 
himself,  on  recapitulating  what  he  had  accomplished,  finds  "  one 
hundred  and  forty  boar-hunts,  one  hundred  and  thirty  stag- 
hunts,  two  hundred  and  sixty-six  of  bucks,  thirty-three  with 
hounds,  and  one  thousand  and  twenty-five  shootings,"  in  all 
fifteen  hundred  and  sixty-two  hunting-days,  averaging  at  least 
one  hunt  every  three  days ;  besides  this  there  are  a  hundred  and 

1  "Marie  Antoinette,"  by  d'Arneth  and  Geffroy,  II.  a?c  (October  18,  1774).  II.  355 
(November  15,  1775).  II.  295  (February  20,  1775).  III.  35  (Februiry  n,  1777).  III. 
119  (October  17,  1777)."  III.  409  (March  18,  1780). 

1  Mme.  Campan,  I.  147. 

*  Nicolardot,  "Journal  de  Louis  XVI.,"  lag. 


112  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  v. 

forty-nine  excursions  without  hunts  and  two  hundred  and 
twenty-three  promenades  on  horseback  or  in  carriages.  "  Dur 
ing  four  months  of  the  year  he  goes  to  Rambouillet  twice  a 
week  and  returns  after  having  supped,  that  is  to  say,  at  three 
o'clock  in  the  morning." l  This  inveterate  habit  ends  in  becom- 
ing a  mania  and  even  in  something  worse.  "The  supineness," 
writes  Arthur  Young,  June  26,  1789,  "and  even  stupidity  of 
the  court,  is  without  example ;  the  moment  demands  the  greatest 
decision, — and  yesterday,  while  it  was  actually  a  question  whether 
he  should  be  a  doge  of  Venice  or  a  king  of  France,  the  king 
went  a  hunting!"  His  journal  is  like  that  of  a  whipper-in. 
On  reading  it  at  the  most  important  dates  one  is  amazed  at 
its  records.  He  writes  nothing  on  the  days  not  devoted  to  hunt- 
ing, which  means  that  to  him  these  days  are  of  no  account. 
"July  u,  1789,  nothing;  M.  Necker  leaves. — i2th,  vespers  and 
benediction ;  Messieurs  de  Montmorin,  de  Saint-Priest  and  de  la 
Luzerne  leave. — i3th,  nothing. — i4th,  nothing. — agth,  nothing; 
M.  Necker  returns. — August  4th,  stag-hunt  in  the  forest  at 
Marly;  took  one;  go  and  come  on  horseback. — i3th,  audience 
of  the  States  in  the  gallery;  Te  Deum  during  the  mass  below; 
one  stag  taken  in  the  hunt  at  Marly.  .  .  .  25th,  complimentary 
audience  of  the  States;  high  mass  with  the  cordons  bkus ;  M. 
Bailly  sworn  in;  vespers  and  benediction;  state  dinner.  .  .  . 
October  5th,  shooting  near  Chatillon;  killed  eighty-one  pieces; 
interrupted  by  events ;  go  and  come  on  horseback. — October  6th, 
leave  for  Paris  at  half-past  twelve ;  visit  the  Hotel-de-Ville ;  sup 
and  rest  at  the  Tuileries. — October  7th,  nothing;  my  aunts  come 
and  dine. — 8th,  nothing.  .  .  .  i2th,  nothing;  the  stag  hunted  at 
Port  Royal."  Shut  up  in  Paris,  the  captive  of  the  masses,  his 
heart  is  always  with  the  hounds.  Twenty  times  in  1790  we  read 
in  his  journal  of  a  stag-hunt  occurring  in  this  or  that  place ;  he 
regrets  not  being  on  hand.  No  privation  is  more  intolerable  to 
him;  we  encounter  traces  of  his  chagrin  even  in  the  formal 
protest  he  draws  up  before  leaving  for  Varennes ;  transported  to 
Paris,  stationary  in  the  Tuileries,  "where,  far  from  finding  con- 
veniences to  which  he  is  accustomed,  he  has  not  even  enjoyed 
the  advantages  common  to  persons  in  easy  circumstances,"  his 
crown  to  him  having  apparently  lost  its  brightest  jewel. 

1  D'H&ecques,  ibid.  253.    Arthur  Young,  I.  ai$. 


OHAP.  i.  HABITS  AND  CHARACTERS.  n$ 

VI. 

As  is  the  general  so  is  his  staff;  the  grandees  imitate  their 
monarch.  Like  some  costly  colossal  effigy  in  marble,  erected  in 
the  centre  of  France,  and  of  which  reduced  copies  are  scattered 
by  thousands  throughout  the  provinces,  thus  does  royal  life 
repeat  itself,  in  minor  proportions,  even  among  the  remotest 
gentry.  The  object  is  to  make  a  parade  and  to  receive;  to 
make  a  figure  and  to  pass  away  time  in  good  society.  I  find, 
first,  around  the  court,  about  a  dozen  princely  courts;  each 
prince  or  princess  of  the  blood  royal,  like  the  king,  has  his  house 
fitted  up,  paid  for,  in  whole  or  in  part,  out  of  the  treasury,  its 
service  divided  into  special  departments,  with  gentlemen,  pages, 
and  ladies  in  waiting,  in  brief,  fifty,  one  hundred,  two  hundred, 
and  even  five  hundred  appointments.  There  is  a  household  of 
this  kind  for  the  queen,  one  for  Madame  Victoire,  one  for 
Madame  Elisabeth,  one  for  Monsieur,  one  for  Madame,  one  for 
the  Comte  d'Artois,  one  for  the  Comtesse  d'Artois ;  there  will  be 
or"?  for  Madame  Royale,  one  for  the  little  Dauphin,  one  for  the 
Dae  de  Normandie,  all  three  children  of  the  king,  one  for  the 
Due  d'Angouleme,  one  for  the  Due  de  Berry,  both  sons  of  the 
Comte  d'Artois :  children  six  or  seven  years  of  age  receive  and 
make  a  parade  of  themselves.  On  referring  to  a  particular 
date,  in  1771,*  I  find  still  another  for  the  Due  d'Orle"ans,  one 
for  the  Due  de  Bourbon,  one  for  the  Duchesse,  one  for  the 
Prince  de  Conde",  one  for  the  Comte  de  Clermont,  one  for  the 
Princess  dowager  de  Conti,  one  for  the  Prince  de  Conti,  one  for 
the  Comte  de  la  Marche,  one  for  the  Due  de  Penthievre. 
Each  personage,  besides  his  or  her  apartment  under  the  king's 
roof  has  his  or  her  chateau  and  palace  with  his  or  her  own 
circle,  the  queen  at  Trianon  and  at  Saint-Cloud,  Mesdames  at 
Bellevue,  Monsieur  at  the  Luxembourg  and  at  Brunoy,  the 
Comte  d'Artois  at  Meudon  and  at  Bagatelle,  the  Due  d' Orleans 
at  the  Palais-Royal,  at  Monceaux,  at  Rancy  and  at  Villers- 
Cotterets,  the  Prince  de  Conti  at  the  Temple  and  at  He-Adam, 
the  Conde*s  at  the  Palais-Bourbon  and  at  Chantilly,  the  Due  de 

1  List  of  pensions  paid  to  members  of  the  royal  family  in  1771.  Due  d'Orl^ans,  150,000; 
Prince  de  Cond6,  100,000;  Comte  de  Clermont,  70,000;  Due  de  Bourbon,  60,000;  Prince 
de  Conti,  60,000 ;  Comte  de  la  Marche,  60,000 ;  Dowager-Countess  de  Conti,  50,000 ;  Due 
de  Penthievre,  50,000;  Princess  de  Lamballe,  50,000;  Duchess  de  Bourbon,  50,000 ;  (Archive* 
nationales,  O1,  710,  &*>• 


10' 


(14  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  n. 

Penthievre  at  Sceaux,  Anet  and  Chateauvilain.  I  omit  one-half 
of  these  residences.  At  the  Palais- Royal  those  who  are  presented 
may  come  to  the  supper  on  opera  days.  At  Chateauvilain  all 
those  who  come  to  pay  court  are  invited  to  dinner,  the  nobles 
at  the  duke's  table  and  the  rest  at  the  table  of  his  first  gentleman. 
At  the  Temple  one  hundred  and  fifty  guests  attend  the  Monday 
suppers.  Forty  or  fifty  persons,  said  the  Duchesse  de  Maine, 
constitute  "a  prince's  private  company."1  The  princes'  train  is 
so  inseparable  from  their  persons  that  it  follows  them  even  into 
camp.  "The  Prince  de  Conde,"  says  M.  de  Luynes,  "sets  out 
for  the  army  to-morrow  with  a  large  suite :  he  has  two  hundred 
and  twenty-five  horses,  and  the  Comte  de  la  Marche  one  hundred. 
M.  le  due  d'Or!6ans  leaves  on  Monday;  he  has  three  hundred 
and  fifty  horses  for  himself  and  suite."2  Below  the  rank  of  the 
king's  relatives  all  the  grandees  who  figure  at  the  court  figure 
as  well  in  their  own  residences,  at  their  hotels  at  Paris  or  at 
Versailles,  also  in  their  chateaux  a  few  leagues  away  from  Paris. 
On  all  sides,  in  the  memoirs,  we  obtain  a  foreshortened  view  of 
some  one  of  these  seignorial  existences.  Such  is  that  of  the  Due 
de  Gevres,  first  gentleman  of  the  bedchamber,  governor  of  Paris, 
and  of  the  Ile-de-France,  possessing  besides  this  the  special 
governorships  of  Laon,  Soissons,  Noyon,  Crespy  and  Valois,  the 
captainry  of  Mousseaux,  also  a  pension  of  twenty  thousand 
livres,  a  veritable  man  of  the  court,  a  sort  of  sample  in  high  relief 
of  the  people  of  his  class,  and  who,  through  his  appointments, 
his  favor,  his  luxury,  his  debts,  the  consideration  he  enjoys,  his 
tastes,  his  occupations  and  his  turn  of  mind  presents  to  us  an 
abridgment  of  the  fashionable  world.3  His  memory  for  relation- 
ships and  genealogies  is  surprising;  he  is  an  adept  in  the 
precious  science  of  etiquette,  and  on  these  two  grounds  he  is  an 
oracle  and  much  consulted.  "  He  greatly  increased  the  beauty 
of  his  house  and  gardens  at  Saint-Ouen.  At  the  moment  of  his 
death,"  says  the  Due  de  Luynes,  "  he  had  just  added  twenty-five 
arpents  to  it  which  he  had  begun  to  enclose  with  a  covered 

1  Beugnot,  I.  77.     Mme.  de  Genlis,  "M6moires,"  ch.  xvii.    De  Goncourt,  "La  Femme 
>u  dix-huitieme  siecle,"  52.     Champfort,  "Caracteres  et  Anecdotes." 

2  De  Luynes,  XVI.  57  (May,  1757).     In  the  army  of  Westphalia  the  Count  d'Estr£es, 
commander-in-chief,  had  twenty-seven  secretaries,  and   Gremin  was  the  twenty-eighth. 
When  the  Due  de  Richelieu  set  out  for  his  government  of  Guyenne  he  was  obliged  to  have 
relays  of  a  hundred  horses  along  the  entire  road. 

»  De  Luynes,  XVI.  i85  (October,  1757). 


CHAP.  i.  HABITS  AND  CHARACTERS.  115 

terrace.  .  .  .  He  had  quite  a  large  household  of  gentlemen, 
pages,  and  domestics  of  various  kinds,  and  his  expenditure  was 
enormous.  .  .  .  He  gave  a  grand  dinner  every  day.  .  .  .  He 
gave  special  audiences  almost  daily.  There  was  no  one  at  the 
court,  nor  in  the  city,  who  did  not  pay  their  respects  to  him. 
The  ministers,  the  royal  princes  themselves  did  so.  He  received 
company  whilst  still  in  bed.  He  wrote  and  dictated  amidst  a 
large  assemblage.  .  .  .  His  house  at  Paris  and  his  apartment 
at  Versailles  were  never  empty  from  the  time  he  arose  till  the 
time  he  retired."  Two  or  three  hundred  households  at  Paris,  at 
Versailles  and  in  their  environs  offer  a  similar  spectacle. 
Never  is  there  solitude.  It  is  the  custom  in  France,  says 
Horace  Walpole,  to  burn  your  candle  down  to  its  snuff  in  public. 
The  mansion  of  the  Duchesse  de  Gramont  is  besieged  at  day- 
break by  the  noblest  seigniors  and  the  noblest  ladies.  Five 
times  a  week,  under  the  Due  de  Choiseul's  roof,  the  butler 
enters  the  drawing-room  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening  to  bestow 
a  glance  on  the  immense  crowded  gallery  and  decide  if  he  shall 
lay  the  cloth  for  fifty,  sixty  or  eighty  persons ; 1  with  this  example 
before  them  all  the  rich  establishments  soon  glory  in  providing  an 
open  table  for  all  comers.  Naturally,  the  parvenues,  the  financiers 
who  have  purchased  or  taken  the  name  of  an  estate,  all  those 
traffickers  and  sons  of  traffickers  who,  since  Law,  associate  with 
the  nobility,  imitate  their  ways.  And  I  do  not  allude  to  the 
Bourets,  the  Beaujons,  the  St.  Jameses  and  other  financial  spend- 
thrifts whose  show  and  pomp  effaces  that  of  the  princes ;  but 
take  a  plain  assocti  des  fermes,  M.  d'Epinay,  whose  modest  and 
refined  wife  refuses  such  excessive  display.2  He  had  just  com- 
pleted his  domestic  arrangements,  and  was  anxious  that  his 
wife  should  take  a  second  maid ;  but  she  resisted ;  nevertheless, 
in  this  curtailed  household,  "the  officers,  women  and  valets, 
amounted  to  sixteen.  .  .  .  When  M.  d'Epinay  gets  up  his  valet 
enters  on  his  duties.  Two  lackeys  stand  by  awaiting  his  orders. 
The  first  secretary  enters  for  the  purpose  of  giving  an  account 
of  the  letters  received  by  him  and  which  he  has  to  open ;  but  he 
is  interrupted  two  hundred  times  in  this  business  by  all  sorts  of 
people  imaginable.  Now  it  is  a  horse-jockey  with  the  finest 
horses  to  sell.  .  .  .  Again  some  scrapegrace  who  calls  to  screech 

*  De  Goncourt,  ibid.  73,  75. 
*  Mrae.  d'Epinay,  "  Mlmoires."    Ed.  Boiteau,  I.  306  (1751). 


n6  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  IL 

out  a  piece  of  music  and  in  whose  behalf  some  influence  ha» 
been  exerted  to  get  him  into  the  opera,  after  giving  him  a  few 
lessons  in  good  taste  and  teaching  him  what  is  proper  in  French 
music.  Again  a  young  lady  who  is  made  to  wait  to  ascertain  if 
I  am  still  at  home.  ...  I  get  up  and  go  out.  Two  lackeys 
open  the  folding  doors  to  let  me  pass,  I  who  could  pass  through 
the  eye  of  a  needle,  while  two  servants  bawl  out  in  the  ante- 
chamber, '  Madame,  gentlemen,  Madame ! '  All  form  a  line,  the 
gentlemen  consisting  of  dealers  in  stuffs,  in  instruments,  jewellers, 
hawkers,  lackeys,  shoeblacks,  creditors,  in  short  everything  im- 
aginable that  is  most  ridiculous  and  annoying.  The  clock  strikes 
twelve  or  one  before  this  toilet  matter  is  over,  and  the  secretary, 
who,  doubtless,  knows  by  experience  the  impossibility  of  render 
ing  a  detailed  statement  of  his  business,  hands  to  his  master  a 
small  memorandum  informing  him  what  he  must  say  in  the  as- 
sembly of  fermiers"  Indolence,  disorder,  debts,  ceremony,  the 
tone  and  ways  of  the  patron,  all  seems  a  parody  of  the  real 
thing.  We  are  beholding  the  last  stages  of  aristocracy.  And 
yet  the  court  of  M.  d'Epinay  is  a  miniature  resemblance  of  that 
of  the  king. 

So  much  more  essential  is  it  that  the  ambassadors,  ministers 
and  general  officers  who  represent  the  king  should  display  them- 
selves in  a  grandiose  manner.  No  circumstance  rendered  the 
ancient  regime  as  brilliant  and  more  oppressive;  in  this,  as  in 
all  the  rest,  Louis  XIV.  is  the  principal  author  of  evil  as  of  good. 
The  policy  which  fashioned  the  court  prescribed  ostentation 
"  He  was  pleased  to  see  a  display  of  dress,  table,  equipages, 
buildings  and  play ;  these  afforded  him  opportunities  for  entering 
into  conversation  with  people.  The  contagion  had  spread  from 
the  court  into  the  provinces  and  to  the  armies  where  people,  of 
any  position,  were  esteemed  only  in  proportion  to  their  table  and 
magnificence." :  During  the  year  passed  by  the  Marshal  de  Belle- 
Isle  at  Frankfort,  on  account  of  the  election  of  Charles  VI.,  he 
expended  750,000  livres  in  journeys,  transportations,  festivals  anc 

1  St  Simon,  XII.  457,  and  Dangeau,  VI.  408.  The  Marshal  de  Boufflers  at  the  camp  a 
Compiegne  (September,  1698)  had  every  night  and  morning  two  tables  for  twenty  an- 
twenty-five  persons,  besides  extra  tables ;  72  cooks,  340  domestics,  400  dozens  of  napkinr 
80  dozens  of  silver  plates,  6  dozens  of  porcelain  plates.  Fourteen  relays  of  horses  brought 
fruits  and  liquors  daily  from  Paris ;  every  day  an  express  brought  fish,  poultry  and  gam* 
from  Ghent,  Brussels,  Dunkirk,  Dieppe  and  Calais.  Fifty  dozens  of  wine  were  drunk  o* 
ordinary  days,  and  eighty  dozens  during  the  visits  of  the  king  and  the  princes. 


CHAP.  I.  HABITS  AND  CHARACTERS.  117 

dinners,  in  constructing  a  kitchen  and  dining-hall,  and  besides 
all  this,  150,000  livres  in  snuff-boxes,  watches  and  other  presents; 
by  order  of  Cardinal  Fleury,  so  economical,  he  had  in  his  kitchens 
one  hundred  and  one  officials.1  At  Vienna,  in  1772,  the  ambas- 
sador, the  Prince  de  Rohan,  had  two  carriages  costing  together 
40,000  livres,  forty  horses,  seven  noble  pages,  six  gentlemen,  five 
secretaries,  ten  musicians,  twelve  footmen,  and  four  grooms  whose 
gorgeous  liveries  each  cost  4,000  livres,  and  the  rest  in  proportion. 
We  are  familiar  with  the  profusion,  the  good  taste,  the  exquisite 
dinners,  the  admirable  ceremonial  display  of  the  Cardinal  de 
Bernis  in  Rome.  "  He  was  called  the  king  of  Rome  and  indeed 
he  was  such  through  his  magnificence  and  in  the  consideration 
he  enjoyed.  .  .  .  His  table  afforded  an  idea  of  what  is  possible. 
...  In  festivities,  ceremonies  and  illuminations  he  was  always  be- 
yond comparison."  He  himself  remarked,  smiling,  "  I  keep  a 
French  inn  on  the  cross-roads  of  Europe." 3  Accordingly  their 
salaries  and  indemnities  are  two  or  three  times  more  ample  than 
at  the  present  day.  "The  king  gives  50,000  crowns  to  the  great 
embassies.  The  Due  de  Duras  received  even  200,000  livres  per 
annum  for  that  of  Madrid,  also,  besides  this,  100,000  crowns  gra- 
tuity, 50,000  livres  for  secret  service  and  he  had  the  loan  of  furni- 
ture and  effects  valued  at  400,000  and  500,000  livres,  of  which 
he  kept  one-half."4  The  outlays  and  salaries  of  the  ministers 
are  similar.  In  1789,  the  Chancellor  gets  120,080  livres  salary 
and  the  Keeper  of  the  Seals  135,000.  "  M.  de  Villedeuil,  as 
Secretary  of  State,  was  to  have  had  180,670  livres,  but  as  he  rep- 
resented that  this  sum  would  not  cover  his  expenses,  his  salary  was 
raised  to  226,000  livres,  everything  included."5  Moreover,  the 
rule  is,  that  on  retiring  from  office  the  king  awards  them  a  pen- 
sion of  20,000  livres  and  gives  a  dowry  of  200,000  livres  to  their 
daughters.  This  is  not  excessive  considering  the  way  they  live. 
"  They  are  obliged  to  maintain  such  state  in  their  households,  for 

*  De  Luynes,  XIV.  149. 

*  Abb6  Georgel,  "M£moires,"  216. 

»  Sainte-Beuve,  "  Causeries  du  lundi,"  VIII.  63,  the  texts  of  two  witnesses,  MM.  de  GenlU 
and  Roland. 

4  De  Luynes,  XV.  435,  and  XVI.  219  (1757).  "The  Marshal  de  Belle-I»ie  contracted  an 
indebtedness  amounting  to  1,200,000  livres,  one-quarter  of  it  for  pleasure-houses  and  the  rest 
In  the  king's  service.  The  king,  to  indemnify  him,  gives  him  400,000  livres  on  the  salt 
revenue,  and  80,000  livres  income  on  the  company  privileged  to  refine  the  precious  metals." 

*  Report  of  fixed  incomes  and  expenditures,  May  ist,  1789,  p.  633.      These  figures,  It 
Bust  be  noted,  must  be  doubled  to  have  their  actual  equivalent. 


u8  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  n 

they  cannot  enrich  themselves  by  their  places.  All  keep  open 
table  at  Paris  three  days  in  the  week,  and  at  Fontainebleau,  every 
day."1  M.  de  Lamoignon  being  appointed  Chancellor  with  a 
salary  of  100,000  livres,  people  at  once  declare  that  he  will  be 
ruined ; a  "  for  he  has  taken  all  the  officials  of  M.  d'Aguesseau'a 
kitchen,  whose  table  alone  cost  80,000  livres.  The  banquet  he 
gave  at  Versailles  to  the  first  council  held  by  him  cost  6,000 
livres,  and  he  must  always  have  seats  at  table,  at  Versailles  and 
at  Paris,  for  twenty  persons."  At  Chambord,3  Marshal  de  Saxe 
always  has  two  tables,  one  for  sixty,  and  the  other  for  eighty 
persons,  also  four  hundred  horses  in  his  stables,  a  civil  list  of 
more  than  100,000  crowns,  a  regiment  of  Uhlans  for  his  guard, 
and  a  theatre  costing  over  600,000  livres,  while  the  life  he  leads, 
or  which  is  maintained  around  him,  resembles  one  of  Rubens's 
bacchanalian  scenes.  As  to  the  special  and  general  provii  cial 
governors  we  have  seen  that,  when  they  reside  on  the  spot,  they 
fulfil  no  other  duty  than  to  entertain ;  alongside  of  them  the  in- 
tendant,  who  alone  attends  to  business,  likewise  receives,  and 
magnificently,  especially  in  the  country  of  a  States-General. 
Commandants,  lieutenants-general,  the  envoys  of  the  central 
government  throughout,  are  equally  induced  by  habit  and  propri- 
ety, as  well  as  by  their  own  lack  of  occupation,  to  maintain  a  draw- 
ing-room ;  they  bring  along  with  them  the  elegancies  and  hospi- 
tality of  Versailles.  If  the  wife  follows  them  she  becomes  weary 
and  "  vegetates  in  the  midst  of  about  fifty  companions,  talking 
nothing  but  commonplace,  knitting  or  playing  loto,  and  sitting 
three  hours  at  the  dinner  table."  But  "  all  the  military  men,  all 
the  neighboring  gentry  and  all  the  ladies  in  the  town,"  eagerly 
crowd  to  her  balls  and  delight  in  commending  "  her  grace,  her 
politeness,  her  equality."  4  These  sumptuous  habits  prevail  even 
among  people  of  secondary  position.  By  virtue  of  established 
usage  colonels  and  captains  entertain  their  subordinates  and  thus 
expend  "  much  beyond  their  salaries." 5  This  is  one  of  the  rea- 
sons why  regiments  are  reserved  for  the  sons  of  the  best 

1  Mme.  de  Genlis,  "Diet,  des  Etiquettes,"  I.  349. 

*  Barbier,  "Journal,"  III.  211  (December,  1750). 

1  Aubertin,  "  L'  Esprit  public  au  dix-huitieme  siecle     255. 

«  Mme.  de  Genlis,  "  Adele  et  Theodore,"  III.  54. 

5  Due  de  Levis,  68.  The  same  thing  is  found,  previous  to  the  late  reform,  in  the  English 
array.  Cf.  Voltaire,  "Entretiens  entre  A,  B,  C,  '  isth  entretiens.  "A  regiment  is  not  th« 
reward  for  services  but  the  prize  for  the  sum  which  the  parents  of  a  young  man  advance  1» 
•rder  that  he  may  go  to  the  provinr  es  for  three  months  in  the  year  and  keep  open  house." 


CHAP.  I.  HABITS  AND  CHARACTERS.  II* 

families  and  companies  in  them  for  wealthy  gentlemen.  The 
vast  royal  tree,  expanding  so  luxuriantly  at  Versailles,  sends  forth 
its  offshoots  to  overrun  France  by  thousands  and  to  bloom  every- 
where, as  at  Versailles,  in  bouquets  of  holiday  sport  and  of 
drawing-room  sociability. 

VII. 

Following  this  pattern,  and  as  well  through  the  effect  of  tem- 
perature,  we  see,   even   in   remote  provinces,   all   aristocratic 
branches  tending  to  a  worldly  efflorescence.     Lacking  other  em- 
ployment, the  nobles  interchange  visits,  and  the  chief  function 
of  a  prominent  seignior  is  to  do  the  honors  of  his  house  credit 
itably.     This  applies  as  well  to  ecclesiastics  as  to  laymen.     The 
one  hundred  and  thirty-one  bishops  and  archbishops,  the  seven 
hundred  abbeVcommendatory,  are  all  men  of  the  world;  they 
behave  well,  are  rich,  and  are  not  austere,  while  their  episcopal 
palace  or  abbey  is  for  them  a  country-house,  which  they  repair 
or  embellish  with  a  view  to  the  time  they  pass  in  it,  and  to  the 
company  they  welcome  to  it.1    At  Clairvaux,  Dom  Rocourt, 
very  affable  with  men  and  still  more  gallant  with  the  ladies,  never 
drives  out  except  with  four  horses,  and  with  a  mounted  groom 
ahead ;  his  monks  do  him  the  honors  of  a  Monseigneur,  and  he 
maintains  a  veritable  court.     The  chartreuse  of  Val  Saint-Pierre 
is  a  sumptuous  palace  in  the  centre  of  an  immense  domain,  and 
the  father-procurator,  Dom  Effinger,  passes  his  days  in  entertain- 
ing his  guests.2    At  the  convent  of  Origny,  near  Saint-Quentin,3 
"  the  abbess  has  her  domestics  and  her  carriage  and  horses,  and 
receives  men  on  visits,  who  dine  in  her  apartments."     The  prin- 
cess Christine,  abbess  of  Remiremont,  with  her  lady  canonesses, 
are  almost  always  travelling;  and  yet  "they  enjoy  themselves  in 
the  abbey,"  entertaining  there  a  good  many  people  "in  the  private 
apartments  of  the  princess,  and  in  the  strangers'  rooms." 4    The 
twenty-five  noble  chapters  of  women,  and  the  nineteen  noble 
chapters  of  men,  are  as  many  permanent  drawing-rooms  and 
gathering  places  incessantly  resorted  to  by  the  fine  society  which 
a  slight  ecclesiastical  barrier  scarcely  divides   from   the  great 

1  Beugnot,  I.  79. 

*  Merlin  de  Thionville,  "  Vie  et  Correspondances. '    Accouct  of  his  visit  to  the  chartretiM 
of  Val  St.  Pierre  in  Thierarche. 
1  Mme.  de  Genlis,  "  Meinoires,  *  ch.  vti. 
«  Mme.  d'Oberkirk,  I.  15. 


120  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  IL 

world  from  which  it  is  recruited.  At  the  chapter  of  Alix,  neai 
Lyons,  the  canonesses  wear  hoopskirts  into  the  choir,  "dressed 
as  in  the  world  outside,"  except  that  their  black  silk  robes  and 
their  mantles  are  lined  with  ermine.1  At  the  chapter  of  Ott- 
marsheim  in  Alsace,  "our  week  was  passed  in  promenading,  in 
visiting  the  traces  of  R  oman  roads,  in  laughing  a  good  deal,  and 
even  in  dancing,  for  there  were  many  people  visiting  the  abbey, 
and  especially  to  talk  over  dresses."  Near  Sarrelouis,  the  canon- 
esses  of  Loutre  dine  with  the  officers  and  are  anything  but  pru- 
dish.2 Numbers  of  convents  serve  as  agreeable  and  respectable 
asylums  for  widowed  ladies,  for  young  women  whose  husbands 
are  in  the  army,  and  for  young  ladies  of  rank,  while  the  superior, 
generally  some  noble  damsel,  wields,  with  ease  and  dexterity,  the 
sceptre  of  this  pretty  feminine  world.  But  nowhere  is  the  pomp 
of  hospitality,  or  the  concourse  greater,  than  in  the  episcopal  pal- 
aces. I  have  described  the  situation  of  the  bishops ;  with  their 
opulence,  possessors  of  the  like  feudal  rights,  heirs  and  successors 
to  the  ancient  sovereigns  of  the  territory,  and  besides  all  this,  men 
of  the  world  and  frequenters  of  Versailles,  why  should  they  not 
keep  a  court  ?  A  Cice,  archbishop  of  Bordeaux,  a  Dillon,  arch- 
bishop of  Narbonne,  a  Brienne,  archbishop  of  Toulouse,  a  Cas- 
tellane,  bishop  of  Mende  and  seignior-suzerain  of  the  whole  of 
Gevaudan,  an  archbishop  of  Cambrai,  duke  of  Cambray,  seign- 
ior-suzerain of  the  whole  of  Cambre'sis,  and  president  by  birth 
of  the  provincial  States- General,  are  nearly  all  princes ; — why  not 
parade  themselves  like  princes?  Hence,  they  build,  hunt  and 
have  their  clients  and  guests,  a  lever,  an  antechamber,  ushers,  offi- 
cers, a  free  table,  a  complete  household,  equipages,  and,  oftener 
still,  debts,  the  finishing  touch  of  a  grand  seignior.  In  the  al- 
most regal  palace  which  the  Rohans,  hereditary  bishops  of  Stras- 
bourg and  cardinals  from  uncle  to  nephew,  erected  for  themselves 
at  Saverne3  there  are  700  beds,  180  horses,  14  butlers,  and  25 
valets.  "The  whole  province  assembles  there;"  the  cardinal 
lodges  as  many  as  two  hundred  guests  at  a  time,  without  count- 
ing the  valets;  at  all  times,  there  are  found  under  his  roof  "from 
twenty  to  thirty  ladies  the  most  agreeable  of  the  province,  and 

1  Mine,  de  Genlis,  I.  ch.  xxvl     Mme.  d'Oberkirk,  I.  6a. 

*  De  Lauzun,  "  Mimoires,"  257. 

*  Marquis  de  Valfons,  "  M6moires,"  6a     De  LeVU,  156.     Mme.  d'Oberkirk,  L  127.,  II 


CHAP.  L  HABITS  AND  CHARACTERS.  121 

this  number  is  often  increased  by  those  of  the  court  and  from 
Paris.  .  .  .  The  entire  company  sup  together  at  nine  o'clock  in 
the  evening,  which  always  looks  like  a  f<§te,"  and  the  cardinal 
himself  is  its  chief  ornament.  Splendidly  dressed,  fine-looking, 
gallant,  exquisitely  polite,  the  slightest  smile  is  a  grace.  "His 
face,  always  beaming,  inspired  confidence  ;  he  had  the  true  phys- 
iognomy of  a  man  expressly  designed  for  pompous  display." 

Such  likewise  is  the  attitude  and  occupation  of  the  principal 
lay  seigniors,  at  home,  in  summer,  when  a  love  of  the  charms 
of  fine  weather  brings  them  back  to  their  estates.  For  example, 
Harcourt  in  Normandy  and  Brienne  in  Champagne  are  two 
chateaux  the  best  frequented.  "  Persons  of  distinction  resort  to 
it  from  Paris,  eminent  men  of  letters,  while  the  nobility  of  the 
canton  pay  there  an  assiduous  court."1  There  is  no  residence 
where  flocks  of  fashionable  people  do  not  light  down  permanently 
to  dine,  to  dance,  to  hunt,  to  gossip,  to  unravel,2  (parfiler)  to 
play  comedy.  We  can  trace  these  birds  from  cage  to  cage  ;  they 
remain  a  week,  a  month,  three  months,  displaying  their  plumage 
and  their  prattle.  From  Paris  to  He-Adam,  to  Villers-Cotterets, 
to  Fr6toy,  to  Planchette,  to  Soissons,  to  PUieims,  to  Grisolles,  to 
Sillery,  to  Braine,  to  Balincourt,  to  Vaudreuil,  the  Comte  and 
Comtesse  de  Genlis  thus  bear  about  their  leisure,  their  wit,  their 
gayety,  at  the  domiciles  of  friends  whom,  in  their  turn,  they  en- 
tertain at  Genlis.  A  glance  at  the  exteriors  of  these  mansions 
suffices  to  show  that  it  was  the  chief  duty  in  these  days  to  be 
hospitable,  as  it  was  a  prime  necessity  to  be  in  society.3  Their 
luxury,  indeed,  differs  from  ours.  With  the  exception  of  a  few 
princely  establishments  it  is  not  great  in  the  matter  of  country 
furniture  ;  a  display  of  this  description  is  left  to  the  financiers. 
"  But  it  is  prodigious  in  all  things  which  can  minister  to  the  en- 
joyment of  others,  in  horses,  carriages,  and  in  an  open  table,  in 
accommodations  given  even  to  people  not  belonging  to  the  house, 
in  boxes  at  the  play  which  are  loaned  to  friends,  and  lastly,  in 
servants,  much  more  numerous  than  nowadays."  Through  this 
mutual  and  constant  attention  the  most  rustic  nobles  lose  the  rust 
still  encrusting  their  counterparts  in  Germany  or  in  England. 
We  find  in  France  few  Squire  Westerns  and  Barons  de  Thunder- 


1  Beugnot,  I.  71.    Hippeau,  "  Le  Gouvemement  de  Norman  die," 

*  An  occupation  explained  farther  on,.page  145.  —  TR. 
*  Mme.  de  Genlis,  "  Memoires,"  passim,    "Diet  des  Etiquettes,"  I.  34! 
II 


laa  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  u, 

tentronk ;  an  Alsatian  lady,  on  seeing  at  Frankfort,  the  grotesque 
country  squires  of  Westphalia,  is  struck  with  the  contrast.1  Those 
of  France,  even  in  distant  provinces,  have  frequented  the  draw- 
ing-rcoms  of  the  commandant  and  intendant  and  have  encoun- 
tered on  their  visits  some  of  the  ladies  from  Versailles ;  hence 
"  they  always  show  some  familiarity  with  superior  manners  and 
some  knowledge  of  the  changes  of  fashion  and  dress."  The 
most  barbarous  will  descend,  with  his  hat  in  his  hand,  to  the 
foot  of  his  steps  to  escort  his  guests,  thanking  them  for  the  honor 
they  have  done  him.  The  greatest  rustic,  when  in  a  woman's 
presence,  dives  down  into  the  depths  of  his  memory  for  some 
fragment  of  chivalric  gallantry.  The  poorest  and  most  secluded 
furbishes  up  his  coat  of  royal  blue  and  his  cross  of  St.  Louis  that 
he  may,  when  the  occasion  offers,  tender  his  respects  to  his  neigh- 
bor, the  grand  seignior,  or  to  the  prince  who  is  passing  by. 

Thus  is  the  feudal  staff  wholly  transformed,  from  the  lowest  to 
the  highest  grades.  Taking  in  at  one  glance  its  thirty  or  forty 
thousand  palaces,  mansions,  manors  and  abbeys,  what  a  brilliant 
and  engaging  scene  France  presents !  She  is  one  vast  drawing- 
room,  and  drawing-room  society  alone  is  seen.  Everywhere 
the  rude  chieftains  once  possessing  authority  have  become  the 
masters  of  households  administering  favors.  Their  society  is 
that  in  which,  before  fully  admiring  a  great  general,  the  question 
is  asked,  "is  he  amiable  ?  "  Undoubtedly  they  still  wear  swords, 
and  are  brave  through  self-love  and  tradition,  and  they  know 
how  to  die,  especially  in  duels  and  according  to  form.  But 
worldly  traits  have  overspread  the  ancient  military  groundwork  j 
at  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century  their  genius  is  to  be  well- 
bred  and  their  employment  consists  in  entertaining  or  in  being 
entertained. 

1  Mme.  d'Oberkirk,  I.  395.  The  Baron  and  Baroness  de  SotearUle  in  MoUere  an  peopk 
v*al  brought  up  although  provincial  and  pvxfanric, 


CHAPTER  II. 

E  RAWING- ROOM  LIFE. — I.  Perfect  only  in  France. — Reasons  f<v  this  de- 
rived from  the  French  character. — Reasons  derived  from  the  tone  of  the 
court — This  life  becomes  more  and  more  agreeable  and  absorbing. — II.  Sub- 
ordination to  it  of  other  interests  and  duties. — Indifference  to  public  affairs.— 
They  are  merely  a  subject  of  jest. — Neglect  of  private  affairs. — Disorder  in 
the  household  and  abuse  of  money. — III.  Moral  divorce  of  husband  and 
wife. —  Gallantry. — Separation  of  parents  and  children. — Education,  its 
object  and  omissions. — The  tone  of  servants  and  purveyors. — Pleasure-seek- 
ing, universal. — IV.  The  charm  of  this  life.  —  Good-breeding  in  the  i8th 
Century. — Its  perfection  and  its  resources. — Taught  and  prescribed  under 
feminine  authority. — V.  What  constitutes  happiness  in  the  i8th  Century. — 
The  fascination  of  display. — Indolence,  recreations,  light  conversation. — VI. 
Gayety  in  the  i8th  Century. — Its  causes  and  effects. — Toleration  and  license. 
— Balls,  fStes,  hunts,  banquets,  pleasures. — Freedom  of  the  magistrates  and 
prelates. — VII.  The  principal  diversion,  elegant  comedy. — Parades  and  ex- 
travagance. 

SIMILAR  circumstances  have  led  other  aristocracies  in  Europe 
to  nearly  similar  ways  and  habits.  There  also  the  monarchy 
has  given  birth  to  the  court  and  the  court  to  a  refined  society. 
But  the  development  of  this  rare  plant  has  been  only  partial. 
The  soil  was  unfavorable  and  the  seed  was  not  of  the  right  sort- 
In  Spain,  the  king  stands  shrouded  in  etiquette  like  a  mummy 
in  its  wrappings,  while  a  too  rigid  pride,  incapable  of  yielding  to 
the  amenities  of  the  worldly  order  of  things,  ends  in  a  sentiment 
of  morbidity  and  in  insane  display.1  In  Italy,  under  petty  des- 
potic sovereigns,  and  most  of  them  strangers,  the  constant  state 
of  danger  and  of  hereditary  distrust,  after  having  tied  all  tongas, 
turns  all  hearts  towards  the  secret  delights  of  love  or  towards 
the  mute  gratifications  of  the  fine  arts.  In  Germany  and  in 
England,  a  cold  temperament,  dull  and  rebellious  to  culture, 

1  De  Lome'nie,  "  Beaumarchais  et  son  temps,"  I.  403.  Letter  of  Beaumarchais,  Dec.  24, 
1764.  The  travels  of  Mme  d'Aulnoy  and  the  letters  of  Mme.  de  Villars.  As  to  Italy  sea 
Stendhal,  "Rome,  Naples  et  Florence."  For  Germany  see  the  "M6moires"  of  the  Mar. 
grave  of  Bareith,  also  of  the  Chevalier  Lang.  For  England  see  my  "  Histoire  de  la  litter* 
hire  Anglaise,"  vols.  III.,  IV. 


124  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  n 

keeps  man,  up  to  the  close  of  the  last  century,  within  the  Ger- 
manic habits  of  solitude,  inebriety  and  brutality.  In  France,  on 
the  contrary,  all  things  combine  to  make  the  social  sentiment 
flourish;  in  this  the  national  genius  harmonizes  with  the  polit- 
ical regime,  the  plant  appearing  to  be  selected  for  the  soil  be- 
forehand. 

The  Frenchman  loves  company  through  instinct,  and  the  rea- 
son is  that  he  does  well  and  easily  whatever  society  calls  upon 
him  to  do.  He  has  not  the  false  shame  which  renders  his  north- 
ern neighbors  awkward,  nor  the  powerful  passions  which  absorb 
his  neighbors  of  the  south.  Talking  is  no  effort  to  him,  having 
none  of  the  natural  timidity  which  begets  constraint,  and  with  no 
constant  preoccupation  to  overcome.  He  accordingly  converses 
at  his  ease,  ever  on  the  alert,  and  conversation  affords  him  extreme 
pleasure.  For  the  happiness  which  he  requires  is  of  a  peculiai 
kind:  delicate,  light,  rapid,  incessantly  renewed  and  varied,  in 
which  his  intellect,  his  self-love,  all  his  emotional  and  sympathetic 
faculties  find  nutriment ;  and  this  quality  of  happiness  is  provided 
for  him  only  in  society  and  in  conversation.  Sensitive  as  he  is, 
personal  attention,  consideration,  cordiality,  delicate  flattery,  con- 
stitute his  natal  atmosphere,  out  of  which  he  breathes  with  diffi- 
culty. He  would  suffer  almost  as  much  in  being  impolite  as  in 
encountering  impoliteness  in  others.  For  his  instincts  of  kindli- 
ness and  vanity  there  is  an  exquisite  charm  in  the  habit  of  be- 
ing amiable,  and  this  is  all  the  greater  because  it  proves  con- 
tagious. When  we  afford  pleasure  to  others  there  is  a  desire  to 
please  us,  and  what  we  bestow  in  deference  is  returned  in  atten- 
tions. In  company  of  this  kind  one  can  talk,  for  to  talk  is  to 
amuse  another  in  being  oneself  amused,  a  Frenchman  finding 
no  pleasure  equal  to  it.1  Lively  and  sinuous  conversation  to  him 
is  like  the  flying  of  a  bird ;  he  wings  his  way  from  idea  to  idea, 
alert,  excited  by  the  inspiration  of  others,  darting  forward,  wheel- 
ing round  and  unexpectedly  returning,  now  up,  now  down,  now 
skimming  the  ground,  now  aloft  on  the  peaks,  without  sinking 
into  quagmires,  or  getting  entangled  in  the  briers,  and  claiming 
nothing  of  the  thousands  of  objects  he  slightly  grazes  but  the 
diversity  and  the  gayety  of  their  aspects. 

1  Volney,  "Tableau  du  climat  et  du  sol  des  Etats-Unis  d'Ame'rique."  The  leading  trail 
of  the  French  colonist  when  compared  with  the  colonists  of  other  nations,  is,  according  te 
this  writer,  the  craving  for  neighbors  and  conversation. 


CHAP.  n.  HABITS  AND  CHARACTERS.  125 

Thus  endowed,  and  thus  disposed,  he  is  made  for  a  regime 
which,  for  ten  hours  a  day,  brings  men  together;  natural  feel- 
ing in  accord  with  the  social  order  of  things,  renders  the 
drawing-room  perfect.  The  king,  at  the  head  of  all,  sets  the 
example.  Louis  XIV.  had  every  qualification  for  Ihe  master  of 
a  household:  a  taste  for  pomp  and  hospitality,  condescension  ac- 
companied with  dignity,  the  art  of  humoring  the  amour-propre 
of  others  and  of  maintaining  his  own  position,  chivalrous  gal- 
lantry, tact,  and  even  charms  of  intellectual  expression.  "  His 
address  was  perfect;1  whether  it  was  necessary  to  jest,  or  he  was 
in  a  playful  humor,  or  deigned  to  tell  a  story,  it  was  ever  with 
infinite  grace,  and  a  noble  refined  air  which  I  have  found  only  in 
him. "  ' '  Never  was  man  so  naturally  polite, 8  nor  of  such  circum- 
spect politeness,  so  nice  in  its  shades,  nor  who  better  discrimi- 
nated age,  worth,  and  rank,  both  in  his  replies  and  in  his  deport- 
ment. .  .  .  His  salutations,  more  or  less  marked,  but  always 
slight,  were  of  incomparable  grace  and  majesty.  .  .  .  He  was  ad- 
mirable in  the  different  acknowledgments  of  salutes  at  the  head 
of  the  army  and  at  reviews.  .  .  .  But  especially  toward  women 
there  was  nothing  like  it.  ...  Never  did  he  pass  the  most  in- 
different woman  without  taking  off  his  hat  to  her;  and  I  mean 
chambermaids  whom  he  knew  to  be  such.  .  .  .  Never  did  he 
chance  to  say  anything  disobliging  to  anybody.  .  .  .  Never  be- 
fore company  anything  mistimed  or  venturesome,  but  even  to 
the  smallest  gesture,  his  walk,  his  bearing,  his  features,  all  were 
proper,  respectful,  noble,  grand,  majestic,  and  thoroughly  natural." 

Such  is  the  model,  and,  nearly  or  remotely,  it  is  imitated  up  to 
the  end  of  the  ancient  regime.  If  it  undergoes  any  change,  it  is 
only  to  become  more  sociable.  In  the  eighteenth  century,  ex- 
cept on  great  ceremonial  occasions,  it  is  seen  descending  step  by 
step  from  its  pedestal.  It  no  longer  imposes  "that  stillness  around 
it  which  lets  one  hear  a  fly  walk."  "Sire,"  said  the  Marshal  de 
Richelieu,  who  had  seen  three  reigns,  addressing  Louis  XVI., 
"under  Louis  XIV.  no  one  dared  utter  a  word;  under  Louis 
XV.  people  whispered;  under  your  Majesty  they  talk  aloud." 
If  authority  is  a  loser,  society  is  the  gainer ;  etiquette,  insensibly 
relaxed,  allows  the  introduction  of  ease  and  cheerfulness.  Hence- 
forth the  great,  less  concerned  in  overawing  than  in  pleasing,  cast 

1  Mme.  de  Caylus,  "  Souvenirs,"  p.  108. 
St.  Simon,  461. 


126  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  a 

off  stateliness  like  an  uncomfortable  and  ridiculous  garment, 
"  seeking  respect  less  than  applause.  It  no  longer  suffices  to  be 
affable ;  one  has  to  appear  amiable  at  any  cost  with  one's  inferiors 
as  with  one's  equals."1  The  French  princes,  says  again  a  con- 
temporary lady,  "are  dying  with  fear  of  being  deficient  in 
graces."2  Even  around  the  throne  "the  style  is  free  and  play- 
ful." The  grave  and  disciplined  court  of  Louis  XIV.  became  a. 
the  end  of  the  century,  under  the  smiles  of  the  youthful  queen, 
the  most  seductive  and  gayest  of  drawing-rooms.  Through 
this  universal  relaxation,  a  worldly  existence  gets  to  be  perfect. 
"He  who  was  not  living  before  1789,"  says  Talleyrand  at  a  later 
period,  "knows  nothing  of  the  charm  of  living."  It  was  too 
great;  no  other  way  of  living  was  appreciated;  it  engrossed 
man  wholly.  When  society  becomes  so  attractive,  people  live  foi 
it  alone. 


II. 

There  is  neither  leisure  nor  taste  for  other  matters,  even  for 
things  which  are  of  most  concern  to  man,  such  as  public  affairs, 
the  household,  and  the  family.  With  respect  to  the  first,  I  have 
already  stated  that  people  abstain  from  them,  and  are  indifferent ; 
che  administration  of  things,  whether  local  or  general,  is  out  of 
their  hands  and  no  longer  interests  them.  They  only  allude  to  it 
in  jest;  events  of  the  most  serious  consequence  form  the  subject 
of  witticisms.  After  the  edict  of  the  Abb6  Terray,  which  threw 
the  funds  half  into  bankruptcy,  a  spectator,  too  much  crowded  in 
the  theatre,  cried  out,  "Ah,  how  unfortunate  that  our  good  Abb6 
Terray  is  not  here  to  cut  us  down  one-half!  "  Everybody  laughs 
and  applauds.  All  Paris  the  following  day,  is  consoled  for  public 
ruin  by  repeating  the  phrase.  Alliances,  battles,  taxation,  treaties, 
ministries,  coups  d'ttat,  the  entire  history  of  the  country,  is  put 

'  Due.  de  L£vi>,  p.  321. 

*  Mme.  de  Genlis,  "  Souvenirs  de  Felicia,"  p.  160.  It  is  Important,  however,  to  call 
attention  to  the  old-fashioned  royal  attitude  under  Louis  XV.  and  even  Louis  XVI. 
"  Although  I  was  advised,"  says  Alfieri,  "  that  the  king  never  addressed  ordinary  strangers, 
I  could  not  digest  the  Olympian-Jupiter  look  with  which  Louis  XV.  measured  the  person 
presented  to  him,  from  head  to  foot,  with  such  an  impassible  air;  if  a  fly  should  be  intro- 
duced to  a  giant,  the  giant,  after  looking  at  him,  would  smile,  or  perhaps  remark.  '  What 
a  little  mite ! '  In  any  event,  if  he  said  nothing,  his  face  would  express  it  for  him."  Alneti 
"M^moires,"  I.  138,  1768.  See  in  Mme.  d'Oberkirk's  "Memoires,"  (II.  349),  the  lesso* 
administered  by  Mme.  Roy  ale,  aged  seven  and  a  half  years,  to  a  lady  introduced  to  her. 


CHAP.  n.  HABITS  AND  CHARACTERS.  127 

into  epigrams  and  songs.  One  day,1  in  an  assembly  of  young 
people  belonging  to  the  court,  one  of  them,  as  the  current  witti- 
cism was  passing  around,  raised  his  hands  in  delight  and  ex- 
claimed, "How  can  one  help  being  pleased  with  great  events, 
even  with  disturbances,  when  they  give  us  such  wit ! "  Thereupon 
the  wit  circulates,  and  every  disaster  in  France  is  turned  into  non- 
sense. A  song  on  the  battle  of  Hochstaedt  was  pronounced 
poor,  and  some  one  in  this  connection  said:  "I  am  sorry  that 
battle  was  lost — the  song  is  so  worthless."  3 

Even  when  eliminating  from  this  trait  all  that  belongs  to  the 
sway  of  impulse  and  the  license  of  paradox,  there  remains  the 
stamp  of  an  age  in  which  the  State  is  almost  nothing  and  society 
almost  everything.  We  may  on  this  principle  divine  what  order 
of  talent  was  required  in  the  ministers.  M.  Necker,  having 
given  a  magnificent  supper  with  serious  and  comic  opera,  "  finds 
that  this  festivity  is  worth  more  to  him  in  credit,  favor,  and  sta- 
bility than  all  his  financial  schemes  put  together.  .  .  .  His  las', 
arrangement  concerning  the  vingtieme  excited  remark  only  for 
one  day,  while  everybody  is  still  talking  about  his  fete;  at 
Paris,  as  well  as  in  Versailles,  its  attractions  are  dwelt  on  in  de- 
tail, people  emphatically  declaring  that  Monsieur  and  Mme. 
Necker  are  a  grace  to  society."3  Good  society  devoted  to 
pleasure  imposes  on  those  in  office  the  obligation  of  providing 
pleasures  for  it.  It  might  also  say,  in  a  half-serious,  half-ironical 
tone,  with  Voltaire,  "that  the  gods  created  kings  only  to  give 
fStes  every  day  provided  they  differ;  that  life  is  too  short  to 
make  any  other  use  of  it ;  that  lawsuits,  intrigues,  warfare,  and 
the  quarrels  of  priests,  which  consume  human  life,  are  absurd  and 
horrible  things ;  that  man  is  born  only  to  enjoy  himself; "  and 
that  among  the  essential  things  we  must  put  the  "superfluous"  in 
the  first  rank. 

According  to  this,  we  can  easily  foresee  that  they  will  be  as 
little  concerned  with  their  private  affairs  as  with  public  affairs. 
Housekeeping,  the  management  of  property,  domestic  economy, 

1  Champfort,  26,  55;  Bachaumont,  1.  136  (Sept.  7,  1762).  One  month  alter  the  Parliament 
had  passed  a  law  against  the  Jesuits,  little  Jesuits  in  wax  appeared,  with  a  snail  for  a  base. 
"By  means  of  a  thread  the  Jesuit  was  made  to  pop  in  and  out  from  the  shell.  It  is  all  tha 
tage— there  is  no  house  without  its  Jesuit." 

*  On  the  othe"  hand,  the  song  on  the  battle  of  Rosbach  is  fine. 

'  "  Correspondance  secrete,"  by  M6tra,  Imbert,  etc.  V.  277  (Nov.  17,  1777).  Voltair* 
"Princess  de  Babtlone." 


128  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  u 

are  in  their  eyes  vulgar,  insipid  in  the  highest  degree,  and  only 
suited  to  an  intendant  or  a  butler.  Of  what  use  are  such  per- 
sons if  we  must  have  such  cares  ?  Life  is  no  longer  a  festival  if 
one  has  to  provide  the  ways  and  means.  Comforts,  luxuries,  the 
agreeable  must  flow  naturally  and  greet  our  lips  of  their  own  ac- 
cord. As  a  matter  of  course  and  without  his  intervention,  a  man 
belonging  to  this  world  should  find  gold  always  in  his  pocket,  a 
handsome  coat  on  his  toilet  table,  powdered  valets  in  his  ante 
chamber,  a  gilded  coach  at  his  door,  a  fine  dinner  on  his  tatle, 
so  that  he  may  reserve  all  his  attention  to  be  expended  in  favois 
on  the  guests  in  his  drawing-room.  Such  a  mode  of  living 
is  not  to  be  maintained  without  waste,  and  the  domestics,  left  to 
themselves,  make  the  most  of  it.  What  matter  is  it,  so  long  as 
they  perform  their  duties  ?  Moreover,  everybody  must  live,  and 
it  is  pleasant  to  have  contented  and  obsequious  faces  around  one, 
Hence  the  first  houses 'in  the  kingdom  are  given  up  to  pillage 
Louis  XV.,  on  a  hunting  expedition  one  day,  accompanied  by 
the  Due  de  Choiseul,1  inquired  of  him  how  much  he  thought 
the  carriage  in  which  they  were  seated  had  cost.  M.  de  Choi- 
seul replied  that  he  should  consider  himself  fortunate  to  get  one 
like  it  for  5,000  or  6,000  francs;  but,  "  His  Majesty  paying  for 
it  as  a  king,  and  not  always  paying  cash,  might  have  paid 
8,000  francs  for  it. "  "  You  are  wide  of  the  mark, "  rejoined  the 
king,  "for  this  vehicle,  as  you  see  it,  cost  me  30,000  francs.  .  .  . 
The  robberies  in  my  household  are  enormous,  but  it  is  impossi- 
ble to  put  a  stop  to  them.  "  In  effect,  the  great  help  themselves 
as  well  as  the  little,  either  in  money,  or  in  kind,  or  in  services. 
There  are  in  the  king's  household  fifty-four  horses  for  the  grand 
equerry,  thirty-eight  of  them  being  for  Mme.  de  Brionne,  the 
administratrix  of  the  office  of  the  stables  during  her  son's  minor- 
ity; there  are  two  hundred  and  fifteen  grooms  on  duty,  and 
about  as  "many  horses  kept  at  the  king's  expense  for  various  other 
persons,  entire  strangers  to  the  department.2  What  a  nest  of 
parasites  on  this  one  branch  of  the  royal  tree !  Elsewhere  I  find 
Madame  Elisabeth,  so  moderate,  consuming  fish  amounting  to 
30,000  francs  per  annum;  meat  and  game  to  70,000  francs;  can- 
files  to  60,000  francs;  Mesdames  burn  white  and  yellow  candles  to 

1  De  Bezenval,  "  Me'moires,  '  II.  206.     An  anecdote  related  by  the  Duke. 
•  Archives  nationales,  a  report  by  M.  Texier  (1780)     A  report  by  M.  V  esnard  de  Chouty 
0«.  738)- 


CHAP.  II.  HABITS  AND  CHARACTERS.  129 

the  amount  of  215,068  francs;  the  light  for  the  queen  comes  to 
157,109  francs.  The  street  at  Versailles  is  still  shown,  formerly 
lined  with  stalls,  to  which  the  king's  valets  resorted  to  nourish  Ver- 
sailles by  the  sale  of  his  dessert.  There  is  no  article  from  which  the 
domestic  insects  do  not  manage  to  scrape  and  glean  something. 
The  king  is  supposed  to  drink  orgeat  and  lemonade  to  the  value  of 
2,190  francs;  "The  grand  broth,  day  and  night,"  which  Mme. 
Royale,  aged  six  years,  sometimes  drinks,  costs  5,201  francs  per 
annum.  Towards  the  end  of  the  preceding  reign l  the  femmes- 
de-chambre  enumerate  in  the  Dauphine's  outlay  "four  pairs  of 
shoes  per  week;  three  ells  of  ribbon  per  diem,  to  tie  her  dress- 
ing-gown; two  ells  of  taffeta  per  diem,  to  cover  the  basket  in 
which  she  keeps  her  gloves  and  fan. "  A  few  years  earlier  the 
king  paid  200,000  francs  for  coffee,  lemonade,  chocolate, 
orgeat,  and  water-ices;  several  persons  were  inscribed  on  the 
list  for  ten  or  twelve  cups  a  day,  while  it  was  estimated  that  the 
coffee,  milk  and  bread  each  morning  for  each  lady  of  the  bed- 
chamber cost  2,000  francs  per  annum.2  We  can  readily  under- 
stand how,  in  households  thus  managed,  the  purveyors  are 
willing  to  wait.  They  wait  so  well  that  often  under  Louis  XV. 
they  refuse  to  provide  and  "  hide  themselves. "  Even  the  delay  is 
so  regular  that  at  last  they  are  obliged  to  pay  them  five  per  cent. 
interest  on  their  advances;  at  this  rate,  in  1778,  after  all  Turgot's 
economic  reforms,  the  king  still  owes  nearly  800,000  livres  to  his 
wine  merchant,  and  nearly  three  millions  and  a  half  to  his  pur- 
veyor.8 The  same  disorder  exists  in  the  houses  which  surround 
the  throne.  "  Mme.  de  Gue'me'ne'e  owes  60,000  livres  to  her  shoe- 
maker, 16,000  livres  to  her  paper-hanger,  and  the  rest  in  propor- 
tion. "  Another  lady,  whom  the  Marquis  de  Mirabeau  sees  with 
hired  horses,  replies  at  his  look  of  astonishment,  "It  is  not 
because  there  are  not  seventy  horses  in  our  stables,  but  none  of 
them  are  able  to  walk  to-day."  4  Mme.  de  Montmorin,  on  ascer- 
taining that  her  husband's  debts  are  greater  than  his  property, 
thinks  she  can  save  her  dowry  of  200,000  livres,  but  is  informed 
that  she  had  given  security  for  a  tailor's  bill,  which,  "incredible 

1  "Marie  Antoinette,"  by  d'Arneth  and  Geffrey,  I.  277  (February  29,  1772). 

2  De  Luynes,  XVII.  37  (August,  1758).     D'Argenson,  February  n,  1753. 

3  Archives  nationales,  O1,  738.     Various  sums  of  interest  are  paid :  12,969  francs  to  the 
baker,  39,631  francs  to  the  wine  merchant,  and  173,899  francs  to  the  purveyor. 

4  Marquis  de  Mirabeau,  "  Traite  de  Population,"  60.     "  Le  Gouvernement  de  Nor- 
mandie,"  by  Hippeau,  II.  204  (Sept.  30,  1780), 


130  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  11 

and  ridiculous  to  say,  amounts  to  the  sum  of  180,000  livres. >M 
"  One  of  the  decided  manias  of  these  days,"  says  Mme.  d'Ober- 
kirk,  "is  to  be  ruined  in  everything  and  by  everything.  "  "The 
two  brothers  Villemer  build  country  cottages  at  from  500,000  to 
600,000  livres ;  one  of  them  keeps  forty  horses  to  ride  occasion- 
ally in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  on  horseback."2  In  one  night  M. 
de  Chenonceaux,  son  of  M.  et  Mme.  Dupin,  loses  at  play 
700,000  livres.  "  M.  de  Chenonceaux,  and  M.  de  Francueil  ran 
through  seven  or  eight  millions  at  this  epoch."3  "The  Due  de 
Lauzun,  at  the  age  of  twenty-six,  after  having  run  through  the 
capital  of  100,000  crowns  revenue,  is  prosecuted  by  his  cred- 
itors for  nearly  two  millions  of  indebtedness."4  "M.  le  Prince 
de  Conti  lacks  bread  and  wood,  although  with  an  income  of 
600,000  livres,"  for  the  reason  that  "he  buys  and  builds  wildly 
on  all  sides."5  Where  would  be  the  pleasure  if  these  people 
were  reasonable  ?  What  kind  of  a  seignior  is  he  who  studies  the 
price  of  things  ?  And  how  can  the  exquisite  be  reached  if  one 
grudges  money?  Money,  accordingly,  must  flow  and  flow  on 
until  it  is  exhausted,  first  by  the  innumerable  secret  or  tolerated 
bleedings  through  domestic  abuses,  and  next  in  broad  streams  of 
the  master's  own  prodigality,  through  structures,  furniture,  toilets^ 
hospitality,  gallantry,  and  pleasures.  The  Comte  d'Artois,  that 
he  may  give  the  queen  a  f£te,  demolishes,  rebuilds,  arranges,  and 
furnishes  Bagatelle  from  top  to  bottom,  employing  nine  hundred 
workmen,  day  and  night,  and,  as  there  is  no  time  to  go  any  .dis- 
tance for  lime,  plaster,  and  cut  stone,  he  sends  patrols  of  the 
Swiss  guards  on  the  highways  to  sieze,  pay  for,  and  immediately 
bring  in  all  carts  thus  loaded.6  The  Marshal  de  Soubise,  enter- 
taining the  king  one  day  at  dinner  and  over  night,  in  his  country 
house,  expends  200,000  livres.7  Mme.  de  Matignon  makes  a  con- 
tract to  be  furnished  every  day  with  a  new  head-dress  at  24,000 
livres  per  annum.  Cardinal  de  Rohan  has  an  alb  bordered  with 

1  Mme.  de  Larochejacquelein,  "  Memoires,"  p.  30.    Mme.  d'Oberkirk,  II.  66. 

*  D'Argenson,  January  26,  1753. 

*  George  Sand,  "Histoire  de  ma  vie,"  I.  78. 

4  "Marie  Antoinette,"  by  d'Ameth  and  Geflroy,  I.  61  (March  18,  1777). 

'  D'Argenson,  January  26,  1753. 

'  "Marie  Antoinette,"  III.  135,  November  19,  1777. 

r  Barbier,  IV.,  155.  The  Marshal  de  Soubise  had  a  hunting  lodge  to  which  the  king  cam* 
from  time  to  tiiie  to  iat  an  omelet  of  pheasants'  eggs,  costing  157  livres,  10  sous.  (Mercier, 
XII.  192;  also,  according  to  the  cook's  statement  who  made  it) 


CHAP.  ii.  HABITS  AND  CHARACTERS.  131 

point  lace,  which  is  valued  at  more  than  100,000  livres,  while 
his  kitchen  utensils  are  of  massive  silver.1 

Nothing  is  more  natural,  considering  their  ideas  of  money; 
hoarded  and  piled  up,  instead  of  being  a  fertilizing  stream,  it  is  a 
useless  marsh  exhaling  bad  odors.  The  queen,  having  presented 
the  Dauphin  with  a  carriage  whose  silver-gilt  trappings  are 
decked  with  rubies  and  sapphires,  naively  exclaims, "  Has  not  the 
king  added  200,000  livres  to  my  treasury?  That  is  no  reason  for 
keeping  them ! " 2  They  would  rather  throw  it  out  of  the  win- 
dow,— which  was  actually  done  by  the  Marshal  de  Richelieu  with 
a  purse  he  had  given  to  his  grandson,  and  which  the  lad,  not  know- 
ing how  to  use,  brought  back  intact.  Money,  on  this  occasion, 
was  at  least  of  service  to  the  passing  street-sweeper  that  picked  it 
up.  But  had  there  been  no  passer-by  to  pick  it  up,  it  would  have 

been  thrown  into  the  river.     One  day  Mme.  de  B ,  being  with 

the  Prince  de  Conti,  hinted  that  she  would  like  a  miniature  of 
her  canary  bird  set  in  a  ring.  The  Prince  offers  to  have  it  made. 
His  offer  is  accepted,  but  on  condition  that  the  miniature  be 
set  plain  and  without  jewels.  Accordingly  the  miniature  is  placed 
in  a  simple  rim  of  gold.  But,  to  cover  over  the  painting,  a  large 

diamond,  made  very  thin,  serves  as  a  glass.     Mme.  de  B , 

having  returned  the  diamond,  "M.  le  Prince  de  Conti  had  it 
ground  to  powder  which  he  used  to  dry  the  ink  of  the  note  he 
wrote  to  Mme.  de  B on  the  subject."  This  pinch  of  pow- 
der cost  four  or  five  thousand  livres,  but  we  may  divine  the  turn 
and  tone  of  the  note.  The  extreme  of  profusion  must  accom- 
pany the  height  of  gallantry,  the  man  of  the  world  being  so  much 
the  more  important  according  to  his  contempt  for  money. 

III. 

In  a  drawing-room,  the  woman  to  whom  a  man  pays  the 
least  attention  is  his  wife,  and  the  same  with  her.  Hence, 
at  a  time  like  this,  when  people  live  for  society  and  in  society, 
there  is  no  place  for  conjugal  intimacy.  Moreover,  when  a  mar- 
ried couple  occupy  an  exalted  position  they  are  separated  by  cus- 

1  Mme.  d'Oberldrk,  I.  129,  II.  257. 

*  Mme.  de  Genlis,  "Souvenirs  de  Felicie,"  80;  and  "Theatre  de  1'Education,"  II.  367.  A 
rirtuous  young  woman  in  ten  months  runs  into  debt  to  the  amount  of  70,000  francs:  "Ten 
louis  for  a  small  table,  15  louis  for  another,  800  francs  for  a  bureau,  200  francs  for  a  small 
writing  desk,  300  francs  for  a  large  one;  hair  rings,  hair  glass,  hair  chain,  hair  bracelets,  rul< 
ttaps,  hair  necklace,  hair  box,  9,900  francs,"  etc. 


132  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  u 

torn  and  decorum.  Each  party  has  his  or  her  own  household,  01 
at  least  their  own  apartments,  servants,  equipage,  receptions  and 
distinct  society,  and,  as  self-parade  entails  ceremony,  they  stand 
towards  each  other  in  deference  to  their  rank  on  the  footing  of 
polite  strangers.  They  are  each  announced  in  each  other's  apart- 
ment ;  they  address  each  other  "  Madame,  Monsieur,"  and  not 
alone  in  public,  but  in  private ;  they  shrug  their  shoulders  when, 
sixty  leagues  off  from  Paris,  they  encounter  in  some  old  chateau  a 
provincial  wife  ignorant  enough  to  say  "  my  dear  "  to  her  hus- 
band before  company.1  Already  separated  at  the  fireside,  the 
two  lives  diverge  beyond  it  at  an  ever  increasing  radius.  The 
husband  has  a  government  of  his  own :  his  private  command,  his 
private  regiment,  his  post  at  court,  which  keeps  him  absent  from 
home ;  only  in  his  declining  years  does  his  wife  consent  to  follow 
him  into  garrison  or  into  the  provinces.2  And  rather  is  this  the 
case  because  she  is  herself  occupied,  and  as  seriously  as  himself; 
often  with  a  position  near  a  princess,  and  always  with  an  important 
circle  of  company  which  she  must  maintain.  A  woman,  in  these 
days,  bestirs  herself  like  a  man,3  in  the  same  career,  and  with  the 
same  arms,  consisting  of  the  smooth  tongue,  the  winning  grace, 
the  insinuating  manner,  the  tact,  the  quick  perception  of  the  right 
moment,  and  the  art  of  pleasing,  demanding,  and  obtaining, 
there  is  not  a  lady  at  court  who  does  not  bestow  regiments  and 
benefices.  Through  this  right  the  wife  has  her  personal  retinue 
of  solicitors  and  protege's,  also,  like  her  husband,  her  friends,  her 
enemies,  her  own  ambitions,  disappointments,  and  rancorous  feel- 
ing; nothing  could  be  more  effectual  in  the  disruption  of  a 
household  than  this  similarity  of  occupation  and  this  division  of 
interests.  The  tie  thus  loosened  ends  by  being  sundered  under 

>  Mme.  de  Genlis,  "  Adele  et  Theodore,"  III.  14. 

*  Mme.  d'Avray,  sister  of  Mme.  de  Genlis,  sets  the  example,  for  which  she  is  at  first  much 
criticized. 

*  "When  I  arrived  in  France  M,  de  Choiseul's  reign  was  just  over.     The  wife  who  could 
please  him,  or  even  please  his  sister-in-law  the  Duchesse  de  Gramont,  was  sure  of  setting 
crazy  every  colonel  and  lieutenant-general  she  was  acquainted  with.     Women  were  of  conse- 
quence even  in  the  eyes  of  the  old  and  of  the  clergy ;  they  were  thoroughly  familiar,  to  an 
extraordinary  degree,  with  the  march  of  events;    they  knew  by  heart  the  characters  and 
habits  of  the  king's  friends  and  ministers.     One  of  these,  on  returning  to  his  chateau  from 
Versailles,  informed  his  wife  about  every  thing  with  which  he  had  been  occupied ;  with  us  he 
says  one  or  two  words  to  her  about  her  water-color  sketches,  or  remains  silent  and  thoughtful, 
pondering  over  what  he  has  just  heard  in  Parliament     Our  poor  ladies  are  abandoned  to  the 
tociety  of  those  frivolous  men  who,  for  want  of  intellect,  have  no  ambition,  and  of  course  no 
employment  (dandies)."     (Stendhal,  "Rome,  Naples,  and  Florence,"  377.      A  narrative  bj 
Colonel  Forsyth). 


CHAP.  n.  ITABITS  AND  CHARACTERS.  133 

the  ascendency  of  opinion.  "  It  looks  well  not  to  live  together," 
to  grant  each  other  every  species  of  tolerance,  and  to  devote 
oneself  to  society.  Society,  indeed,  then  fashions  opinion,  ana 
through  opinion  it  urges  on  the  habits  which  it  requires. 

Toward  the  middle  of  the  century  the  husband  and  wife  lodge 
under  the  same  roof,  but  that  is  all.  "They  are  never  at  home 
in  private;  they  are  never  encountered  in  the  same  carriage; 
they  are  never  met  in  the  same  house;  nor,  through  the  necessity 
of  the  case,  are  they  ever  together  in  public."  Profound  senti- 
ment would  have  seemed  odd  and  even  "ridiculous;"  in  any  event 
unbecoming ;  it  would  have  been  as  unacceptable  as  an  earnest 
"aside"  in  the  general  current  of  light  conversation.  Each  has 
a  duty  to  all,  and  for  a  couple  to  entertain  each  other  is  isolation ; 
in  company  there  exists  no  right  of  the  tete-a-te'te.1  It  was 
hardly  allowed  for  a  few  days  to  lovers.2  And  even  then  it  was 
regarded  unfavorably ;  they  were  found  too  much  occupied  with 
each  other.  Their  preoccupation  diffused  around  them  an  at- 
mosphere of  "constraint  and  ennui ;  one  had  to  be  upon  one's 
guard  and  to  check  oneself."  They  were  "dreaded."  The 
exigencies  of  society  are  those  of  an  absolute  king,  and  admit 
of  no  partition.  "  If  morals  lost  by  this,  society  was  infinitely 
the  gainer,"  says  M.  de  Bezenval,  a  contemporary;  "having  got 
rid  of  the  annoyances  and  dulness  caused  by  the  husbands' 
presence,  the  freedom  was  extreme ;  the  coquetry  both  of  men 
and  women  kept  up  social  vivacity  and  daily  provided  piquant 
adventures."  Nobody  is  jealous,  not  even  when  in  love. 
"People  are  mutually  pleased  and  become  attached;  if  one 
grows  weary  of  the  other,  they  part  with  as  little  concern  as 
they  came  together.  Should  the  sentiment  revive  they  take  to 
each  other  with  as  much  vivacity  as  if  it  were  the  first  time  they 
had  been  engaged.  They  may  again  separate,  but  they  never 
quarrel.  As  they  have  become  enamored  without  love,  they  part 
without  hate,  deriving  from  the  feeble  desire  they  have  inspired 
the  advantage  of  being  always  ready  to  oblige."3  Appearances, 
moreover,  are  respected.  An  uninformed  stranger  would  detect 

1  De  Bezenval,  49,  60.  "Out  of  twenty  seigniors  at  the  court  there  are  fifteen  not  living 
«ith  their  wives,  and  keeping  mistresses.  Nothing  is  so  common  at  Paris  among  certain  pel* 
»ns."  (Barbier,  IV.  496.) 

'  Ne  soyez  point  epoux,  ne  soyez  point  amant 
Soyez  1'homme  du  jour  et  vous  serez  channant 
•  Crebillon y?/s,  "La  nuit  et  le  moment,"  IX.  14. 


?34  THE  AN:  TENT  REGIME.  BOOK  n 

nothing  to  excite  suspicion.  An  extreme  curiosity,  says  Horace 
Walpole,1  or  a  great  familiarity  with  things,  is  necessary  to  detect 
the  slightest  intimacy  between  the  two  sexes.  No  familiarity  is 
allowed  except  under  the  guise  of  friendship,  while  the  vocabulary 
of  love  is  as  much  prohibited  as  its  rites  apparently  are.  Even 
with  Cre"billon  fits,  even  with  Laclos,  at  the  most  exciting  mo- 
ments, the  terms  their  characters  employ  are  circumspect  and 
irreproachable.  Whatever  indecency  there  may  be,  it  is  never 
expressed  in  words,  the  sense  of  propriety  in  language  imposing 
itself  not  only  on  the  outbursts  of  passion,  but  again  on  the 
grossness  of  instincts.  Thus  do  the  sentiments  which  are  nat- 
urally the  strongest  lose  their  point  and  sharpness ;  their  rich  and 
polished  remains  are  converted  into  playthings  for  the  drawing- 
room,  and,  thus  cast  to  and  fro  by  the  whitest  hands,  fall  on  the 
floor  like  a  shuttlecock.  We  must,  on  this  point,  listen  to  the 
heroes  of  the  epoch ;  their  free  and  easy  tone  is  inimitable,  and 
it  depicts  both  them  and  their  actions.  "  I  conducted  myself," 
says  the  Due  de  Lauzun,  "  very  prudently,  and  even  deferentially 
with  Mme.  de  Lauzun  ;  I  knew  Mme.  de  Cambis  very  openly 
for  whom  I  concerned  myself  very  little  ;  I  kept  the  little  Eugenie 
whom  I  loved  a  great  deal;  I  played  high,  I  paid  my  court  to 
the  king,  and  I  hunted  with  him  with  great  punctuality." 2  He 
had  for  others,  withal,  that  indulgence  of  which  he  himself  stood 
in  need.  "  He  was  asked  what  he  would  say  if  his  wife  ( whom 
he  had  not  seen  for  ten  years )  should  write  to  him  that  she  had 
just  discovered  that  she  was  enceinte.  He  reflected  a  moment 
and  then  replied, '  I  would  write,  and  tell  her  that  I  was  delighted 
that  heaven  had  blessed  our  union;  be  careful  of  your  health;  I 
will  call  and  pay  my  respects  this  evening.' "  There  are  countless 
replies  of  the  same  sort,  and  I  venture  to  say  that,  without  hav- 
ing read  them,  one  could  not  imagine  to  what  a  degree  social  art 
had  overcome  natural  instincts. 

1  Horace  Walpole's  letters  (January  25,  1766).  The  Duke  de  Brissac,  at  Louvecdennes,  the 
lover  of  Mme.  du  Barry,  and  passionately  fond  of  her,  always  in  her  society  assumed  the 
attitude  of  3.  polite  stranger.  (Mme.  Vigee-Lebrun,  "Souvenirs,"  I.  165.) 

1  De  Lauzun,  31-  Champfort,  39.  "TheDucde whose  wife  had  just  been  the  subject 

of  scandal,  complained  to  her  mother-in-law ;  the  latter  replied  with  the  greatest  coolness, 
'Eh,  Monsieur,  you  make  a  good  deal  of  talk  about  nothing.  Your  father  was  accustomed 
to  better  company.'"  (Mme.  d'Oberki  k,  II.  135,  241).  "A  husband  said  to  his  wife,  'I 
allow  you  everybody  outside  of  priaces  and  lackeys.'  He  was  true  to  the  feet,  these  two  ex- 
tremes bringing  dishonor  on  account  of  the  scandal  attached  to  them."  (Senac  de  Meilhan, 
"Considerations  sur  les  Moeurs").  On  a  wife  being  discovered  by  a  husband,  he  simply  e» 
claims,  "Madame,  what  imprudence  1  Suppose  that  I  was  any  other  man."  ("la  femmt 
mi  dix-huitieme  siecle,"  aoi.) 


CRAP.  H.  HABITS  AND  CHARACTERS.  135 

"  Here  at  Paris,"  writes  Mme.  d'Oberkirk,  "  I  am  no  longer  my 
own  mistress.  I  scarcely  have  time  to  talk  with  my  husband 
and  to  answer  my  letters.  I  do  not  know  what  women  do  that 
are  accustomed  to  lead  this  life ;  they  certainly  have  no  families 
to  look  after,  nor  children  to  educate."  At  all  events  they  act 
as  if  they  had  none,  and  the  men  likewise.  Married  people  not 
living  together  live  but  rarely  with  their  children,  and  the  causes 
which  disintegrate  wedlock  also  disintegrate  the  family.  In  the 
first  place  there  is  the  aristocratic  tradition,  which  interposes  a 
barrier  between  parents  and  children  with  a  view  to  maintain  a 
respectful  distance.  Although  enfeebled  and  about  to  disappear,1 
this  tradition  still  subsists.  The  son  savs  "  Monsieur "  to  his 
father;  the  daughter  comes  "respectfully"  to  kiss  her  mother's 
hand  at  her  toilet.  A  caress  is  rare  and  seems  a  favor;  children 
generally,  when  with  their  parents,  are  silent,  the  sentiment  that 
usually  animates  them  being  that  of  deferential  timidity.  At  one 
time  they  were  regarded  as  so  many  subjects,  and  up  to  a  certain 
point  they  are  so  still ;  while  the  new  exigencies  of  worldly  life 
place  them  or  keep  them  effectually  aside.  M.  de  Talleyrand 
stated  that  he  had  never  slept  under  the  same  roof  with  his  father 
and  mother.  And  if  they  do  sleep  there,  they  are  not  the  less 
neglected.  "I  was  entrusted,"  says  the  Count  de  Tilly,  "to 
valets  and  to  a  kind  of  preceptor  resembling  these  in  more  re- 
spects than  one."  During  this  time  his  father  ran  after  women. 
"  I  have  known  him,"  adds  the  young  man,  "  to  have  mistresses 
up  to  an  advanced  age ;  he  was  always  adoring  them  and  con- 
stantly abandoning  them."  The  Due  de  Lauzun  finds  it  difficult 
to  obtain  a  good  tutor  for  his  son;  for  this  reason  the  latter 
writes,  "  he  conferred  the  duty  on  one  of  my  late  mother's  lackeys 
who  could  read  and  write  tolerably  well,  and  to  whom  the  title 
of  valet-de-chambre  was  given  to  insure  greater  consideration. 
They  gave  me  the  most  fashionable  teachers  besides;  but  M. 
Roch  (which  was  my  mentor's  name)  was  not  qualified  to  arrange 

1  See  in  this  relation  the  somewhat  ancient  types,  especially  in  the  provinces.  "  My  mother, 
my  sister,  and  myself,  transformed  into  statues  by  my  father's  presence,  only  recover  ourselves 
after  he  leaves  the  room."  (Chateaubriand,  "Memoires,"  I.  17,  28,  130;  "M6moires  de 
Mirabeau,"  I.  53.)  The  Marquis  said  of  his  father  Antoine:  "I  never  had  the  honor  of  kiss. 
Ing  the  cheek  of  that  venerable  man.  ...  At  the  Academy,  being  two  hundred  league! 
aw-iy  from  him,  the  mere  thought  of  him  made  me  dread  every  youthful  amusement  which 
could  be  followed  by  the  least  unfavorable  results."  Paternal  authori- v  seems  almost  rs  rigit 
ttiong  the  middle  and  lower  classes.  ("Beaumarchais  et  son  temps,"  by  De  Lomenk  I.  23 
"Vie  de  mon  pere,"  by  Resrif  de  la  Bretonne,  passim.) 


136  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  P 

their  lessons,  nor  to  qualify  me  to  benefit  by  them.  I  was,  more- 
over, like  all  the  children  of  my  age  and  of  my  station,  dressed 
in  the  handsomest  clothes  to  go  out,  and  naked  and  dying  with 
hunger  in  the  house," l  and  not  through  unkindness,  but  through 
household  oversight,  dissipation,  and  disorder,  attention  being 
given  to  things  elsewhere.  One  might  easily  count  the  fathers 
who,  like  the  Marshal  de  Belle-Isle,  brought  up  their  sons  under 
their  own  eyes,  and  themselves  attended  to  their  education  me- 
thodically, strictly,  and  with  tenderness.  As  to  the  girls,  they 
were  placed  in  convents;  relieved  from  this  care,  their  parents 
only  enjoy  the  greater  freedom.  Even  when  they  retain  charge 
of  them  they  are  scarcely  more  of  a  burden  to  them.  Little  F6- 
licite"  de  Saint- Aubin  2  sees  her  parents  "  only  on  their  waking  up 
and  at  meal  times."  Their  day  is  wholly  taken  up ;  the  mother 
is  making  or  receiving  visits ;  the  father  is  in  his  laboratory  or  en- 
gaged in  hunting.  Up  to  seven  years  of  age  the  child  passes  her 
time  with  chambermaids  who  teach  her  only  a  little  catechism, 
"  with  an  infinite  number  of  ghost  stories."  About  this  time  she 
is  taken  care  of,  but  in  a  way  which  well  portrays  the  epoch. 
The  Marquise,  her  mother,  the  author  of  mythological  and  pas- 
toral operas,  has  a  theatre  built  in  the  chateau ;  a  great  crowd  of 
company  resorts  to  it  from  Bourbon-Lancy  and  Moulins;  after 
rehearsing  twelve  weeks  the  little  girl,  with  a  quiver  of  arrows 
and  blue  wings,  plays  the  part  of  Cupid,  and  the  costume  is  so  be- 
coming she  is  allowed  to  wear  it  in  common  during  the  entire  day 
for  nine  months.  To  finish  the  business  they  send  for  a  dancing- 
fencing  master,  and,  still  wearing  the  Cupid  costume,  she  takes  les- 
sons in  fencing  and  in  deportment.  "  The  entire  winter  is  devoted 
to  playing  comedy  and  tragedy."  Sent  out  of  the  room  after  din- 
ner, she  is  brought  in  again  only  to  play  on  the  harpsichord  or  to 
declaim  the  monologue  of  Alzire  before  a  numerous  assembly. 
Undoubtedly  such  extravagances  are  not  customary;  but  the  spirit 
of  education  is  everywhere  the  same ;  that  is  to  say,  in  the  eyes  of 
parents  there  is  but  one  intelligible  and  rational  existence,  that  of 
society,  even  for  children,  and  the  attentions  bestowed  on  these 
are  solely  with  a  view  to  introduce  them  into  it  or  to  prepare  them 
for  it. 

1  Sainte-Beuve,  "Nouveaux  Lundis,"  XII.  13;  Comte  de  Tilly,  "M&noires,"  I.  u;  Duf 
de  Lauzun,  5 :  "  Beaumarchals,"  by  De  Lom£nie,  II.  298. 
•  Madame  de  Genlis,  "M£moires,"  ch   ii.  and  iiL 


CHAP.  II.  HABITS  AND  CHARACTERS.  13; 

Even  in  the  last  years  of  the  ancient  regime l  little  boys  have 
their  hair  powdered,  "  a  pomatumed  chignon  (bourse),  ringlets, 
and  curls";  they  wear  the  sword,  the  chapeau  under  the  arm,  a 
frill,  and  a  coat  with  gilded  cuffs ;  they  kiss  young  ladies'  hands 
with  the  air  of  little  dandies.  A  lass  of  six  years  is  bound  up  in 
a  whalebone  waist;  her  large  hoop-petticoat  supports  a  skirt 
covered  with  wreaths ;  she  wears  on  her  head  a  skilful  combina- 
tion of  false  curls,  puffs,  and  knots,  fastened  with  pins,  and 
crowned  with  plumes,  and  so  high  that  frequently  "the  chin  is 
half  way  down  to  her  feet " ;  sometimes  they  put  rouge  on  hex 
face.  She  is  a  miniature  lady,  and  she  knows  it ;  she  is  fully  up 
in  her  part,  without  effort  or  inconvenience,  by  force  of  habit ; 
the  unique,  the  perpetual  instruction  she  gets  is  that  on  her  de- 
portment ;  it  may  be  said  with  truth  that  the  fulcrum  of  education 
in  this  country  is  the  dancing-master.2  They  could  get  along 
with  him  without  any  others ;  without  him  the  others  were  of  no 
use.  For,  without  him,  how  could  people  go  through  easily, 
suitably,  and  gracefully  the  thousand  and  one  actions  of  daily  life, 
walking,  sitting  down,  standing  up,  offering  the  arm,  using  the  fan, 
listening  and  smiling,  before  eyes  so  experienced  and  before  such 
a  refined  public  ?  This  is  to  be  the  great  thing  for  them  when 
they  become  men  and  women,  and  for  this  reason  it  is  the  thing 
of  chief  importance  for  them  as  children.  Along  with  graces  of 
attitude  and  of  gesture,  they  already  have  those  of  the  mind  and 
of  expression.  Scarcely  is  their  tongue  loosened  when  they 
speak  the  polished  language  of  their  parents.  The  latter  amuse 
themselves  with  them  and  use  them  as  pretty  dolls ;  the  preach- 
ing of  Rousseau,  which,  during  the  last  third  of  the  last  century, 
brought  children  into  fashion,  produces  no  other  effect.  They 
aie  made  to  recite  their  lessons  in  public,  to  perform  in  proverbs, 
to  take  parts  in  pastorals.  Their  sallies  are  encouraged.  They 
know  how  to  turn  a  compliment,  to  invent  a  clever  or  affecting 
repartee,  to  be  gallant,  sensitive,  and  even  spirituelle.  The  little 
Due  d'Angouleme,  holding  a  book  in  his  hand,  receives  Suffien, 
whom  he  addresses  thus :  "  I  was  reading  Plutarch  and  his  illus- 

1  Mme.  d'Oberkirk,  II.  35.  This  fashion  lasts  until  1783.  De  Goncourt,  "La  femnie  411 
dix-huitieme  siecle,"  415.  "Les  perits  parrains,"  an  engraving  by  Moreau.  Berquin,  "L'amJ 
des  enfants," passim.  Mme.  de  Genlis,  "Theatre  de  V Education," passim. 

*  Le  Sage,  "Gil  Bias" :  the  difcourse  of  the  dancing-master  charged  with  tb    education  <h 
Jie  son  of  Count  d'Olivares. 
12* 


438  THE  ANC1EN7  REGIME.  BOOK  n, 

trious  men.  You  could  not  have  entered  more  apropos"1  Th« 
children  of  M.  de  Sabran,  a  boy  and  a  girl,  one  eight  and  the 
other  nine,  having  taken  lessons  from  the  comedians  Sainval  and 
Larive,  come  to  Versailles  to  play  before  the  king  and  queen  in 
Voltaire's  "Oreste,"  and  on  the  little  fellow  being  interrogated 
about  the  classic  authors,  he  replies  to  a  lady,  the  mother  of  three 
charming  girls,  "  Madame,  Anacreon  is  the  only  poet  I  can  think 
of  here ! "  Another,  of  the  same  age,  replies  to  a  question  of 
Prince  Henry  of  Prussia  with  an  agreeable  impromptu  in  verse.2 
To  cause  witticisms,  insipidities,  and  mediocre  verse  to  germi- 
nate in  a  brain  eight  years  old,  what  a  triumph  for  the  culture  of 
the  day !  It  is  the  last  characteristic  of  the  regime  which,  after 
having  stolen  man  away  from  public  affairs,  from  his  own  affairs, 
from  marriage,  from  the  family,  hands  him  over,  with  all  his  sen- 
timents and  all  his  faculties,  to  social  worldliness,  he  and  all  that 
belong  to  him.  Below  him  fine  ways  and  forced  politeness  pre- 
vail, even  with  his  servants  and  tradesmen.  A  Frontin  has  a  gal- 
lant unconstrained  air,  and  he  turns  a  compliment.3  An  abigail 
needs  only  to  be  a  kept  mistress  to  become  a  lady.  A  shoe- 
maker is  a  "  monsieur  in  black,"  who  says  to  a  mother  on  saluting 
the  daughter,  "  Madame,  a  charming  young  person,  and  I  am 
more  sensible  than  ever  of  the  value  of  your  kindness,"  on  which 
the  young  girl,  just  out  of  a  convent,  takes  him  for  a  suitor  and 
blushes  scarlet.  Undoubtedly  less  unsophisticated  eyes  would 
distinguish  the  difference  between  this  pinchbeck  louis  d'or  and  a 
genuine  one ;  but  their  resemblance  suffices  to  show  the  universal 
action  of  the  central  mint — machinery  which  stamps  both  with 
the  same  effigy,  the  base  metal  and  the  refined  gold. 

IV. 

A  society  which  obtains  such  ascendency  must  possess  some 
charm;  in  no  country,  indeed,  and  in  no  age  has  so  perfect  a 

'  "Correspondance,"  by  Me'tra,  XIV.  212;  XVI.  100.     Mme.  d'Oberkirk,  II,  302. 
»  De  Segur,  I.  30.7. 

Ma  naissance  n'a  rien  de  neuf, 
J'ai  suivi  la  commune  regie, 
Mais  c'est  vous  qui  sortez  d'un  oeuf, 

Car  vous  Stss  un  aigle. 

Mme.  de  Genlis,  "M6moires,"  ch  iv.  Mme.  de  Genlis  wrote  verses  of  this  kind  at  twelv* 
years  of  age. 

*  Already  in  the  Picaeuses  of  Moliere,  the  Marquis  de  Mascarille  and  the  Vicomte  de  Jode. 
let.  And  the  same  in  Marivaux,  "  L'e'preuve,  les  jeux  de  I'amour  et  du  hasard,"  etc.  L« 
Sag«,  "Crispin  rival  de  son  maitre."  Laclos,  "Les  liaisons  dangeVeuses,"  first  letter. 


CHAF.  II.  HABITS  AND  CHARACTERS.  139 

social  art  rendered  life  so  agreeable.  Paris  is  the  school-nouse 
of  Europe,  a  school  of  urbanity  to  which  the  youth  of  Russia, 
Germany,  and  England  resort  to  become  civilized.  Lord  Ches- 
terfield in  his  letters  never  tires  of  reminding  his  son  of  this, 
and  of  urging  him  into  these  drawing-rooms,  which  will  remove 
"his  Cambridge  rust."  Once  familiar  with  them  they  are  never 
abandoned,  or  if  one  is  obliged  to  leave  them,  one  always  sighs 
for  them.  "Nothing  is  comparable,"  says  Voltaire,1  "to  the 
genial  life  one  leads  there  in  the  bosom  of  the  arts  and  of  a 
calm  and  refined  voluptuousness ;  strangers  and  monarchs  have 
preferred  this  repose,  so  agreeably  occupied  in  it  and  so  enchant- 
ing to  their  own  countries  and  thrones.  The  heart  there  softens  and 
melts  away  like  aromatics  slowly  dissolving  in  moderate  heat,  evap- 
orating in  delightful  perfumes."  Gustavus  III.,  beaten  by  the 
Russians,  declares  that  he  will  pass  his  last  days'  in  Paris  in 
a  ho.Tise  on  the  boulevards;  and  this  is  not  merely  compli- 
mentJtry,  for  he  sends  for  plans  and  an  estimate.2  A  supper 
or  an  evening  entertainment  brings  people  two  hundred  leagues 
away.  Some  friends  of  the  Prince  de  Ligne  "leave  Brussels 
after  breakfast,  reach  the  opera  in  Paris  just  in  time  to  see  the 
curtain  rise,  and,  after  the  spectacle  is  over,  return  immediately 
to  Brussels,  travelling  all  night."  Of  this  delight,  so  eagerly 
sought,  we  have  only  imperfect  copies,  and  we  are  obliged  tc 
revive  it  intellectually.  It  consists,  in  the  first  place,  in  the 
pleasure  of  living  with  perfectly  polite  people;  there  is  no  en- 
joyment more  subtle,  more  lasting,  more  inexhaustible.  The 
self-love  of  man  being  infinite,  intelligent  people  are  always  able 
to  produce  some  refinement  of  attention  to  gratify  it.  Worldly 
sensibility  being  infinite  there  is  no  imperceptible  shade  of  it 
permitting  indifference.  After  all,  man  is  still  the  greatest  source 
of  happiness  or  of  misery  to  man,  and  in  those  days  the  ever- 
flowing  fountain  brought  to  him  sweetness  instead  of  bitter- 
ness. Not  only  was  it  essential  not  to  offend,  but  it  was  essen- 
tial to  please;  one  was  expected  to  lose  sight  of  oneself 
in  others,  to  be  always  cordial  and  good-humored,  to  keep  one's 
own  vexations  and  grievances  in  one's  own  breast,  to  spare  others 
melancholy  ideas  and  to  supply  them  with  cheerful  ideas.  "  Was 
any  one  old  in  those  days  ?  It  is  the  Revolution  which  brought 

1  "Princesse  de  Babylone." 
»  "Gustave  III.,"  by  Gcffroy,  II.  37.    Mme.  Vig£e-Lebrun,  I.  81. 


140  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  u 

old  age  into  the  world.  Your  grandfather,  my  child,1  was  hand- 
some, elegant,  neat,  gracious,  perfumed,  playful,  amiable,  affec- 
tionate, and  good-tempered  to  the  day  of  his  death.  People 
then  knew  how  to  live  and  how  to  die ;  there  was  no  such  thing 
as  troublesome  infirmities.  If  any  one  had  the  gout,  he  walked 
along  all  the  same  and  made  no  faces;  people  well  brought 
up  concealed  their  sufferings.  There  was  none  of  that  absorp- 
tion in  business  which  spoils  a  man  inwardly  and  dulls  his  brain. 
People  knew  how  to  ruin  themselves  without  letting  it  appear, 
like  good  gamblers  who  lose  their  money  without  showing  un- 
easiness or  spite.  A  man  would  be  carried  half  dead  to  a  hunt. 
It  was  thought  better  to  die  at  a  ball  or  at  the  play  than  in  one's 
bed  between  four  wax  candles  and  horrid  men  in  black.  Peo- 
ple were  philosophers ;  they  did  not  assume  to  be  austere,  but 
often  were  so  without  making  a  display  of  it.  If  one  was  dis- 
creet, it  was  through  inclination  and  without  pedantry  or  prudish- 
ness.  People  enjoyed  this  life,  and  when  the  hour  of  departure 
came  they  did  not  try  to  disgust  others  with  living.  The  last 
request  of  my  old  husband  was  that  I  would  survive  him  as 
long  as  possible  and  live  as  happily  as  I  could." 

When,  especially,  women  are  concerned  it  is  not  sufficient  to 
be  polite;  it  is  important  to  be  gallant.  Each  lady  invited  by 
the  Prince  de  Couti  to  He-Adam  "  finds  a  carriage  and  horses  at 
her  disposal;  she  is  free  to  give  dinners  every  day  in  her  own 
rooms  to  her  own  friends." 2  Mme.  de  Civrac,  obliged  to  go  to  the 
springs,  her  friends  undertake  to  divert  her  on  the  journey;  they 
keep  ahead  of  her  a  few  posts,  and,  at  every  place  where  she 
rests  for  the  night,  they  give  her  a  little  fete  champfore,  disguised 
as  villagers  and  in  bourgeois  attire,  with  bailiff  and  scrivener,  and 
other  masks  all  singing  and  reciting  verses.  A  lady,  on  the  eve 

of  Longchamp,  knowing  that  the  Vicomte  de  V possesses 

two  caleches,  makes  a  request  for  one  of  them ;  it  is  disposed  of, 
but  he  is  careful  not  to  decline,  and  immediately  has  one  of 
the  greatest  elegance  purchased  to  lend  it  for  three  hours ;  he  is 
only  too  happy  that  anybody  should  wish  to  borrow  from  him, 

1  George  Sand,  I.  58-60.  A  narration  by  her  grandmother,  who,  at  thirty  years  of  age, 
warrled  M.  Dupin  de  Francueil,  aged  sixty-two. 

*  Mme.  de  Genlis,  "Souvenirs  le  Fe'licie,"  77.  "Diet  des  Etiquettes,"  I.  348.  MnM 
Campan,  III.  74. 


CHAP.  II.  HABITS  AND  CHARACTERS.  141 

his  prodigality  appearing  amiable  but  not  astonishing.1  The 
reason  is  that  women  then  were  queens  in  the  drawing-room ;  it  is 
their  right;  this  is  the  reason  why,  in  the  eighteenth  century, 
they  prescribe  the  law  and  the  fashion  in  all  things.2  Having 
formed  the  code  of  usages,  it  is  quite  natural  that  they  should 
profit  by  it,  and  see  that  all  its  prescriptions  are  carried  out.  In 
this  respect  any  circle  "  of  the  best  company  "  is  a  superior  tri- 
bunal, serving  as  a  court  of  last  appeal.3  The  Mar6chale  de 
Luxembourg  is  an  authority;  there  is  no  point  of  manners 
which  she  does  not  justify  with  an  ingenious  argument.  Any 
expression,  any  neglect  of  the  standard,  the  slightest  sign  of  pre- 
tension or  of  self-conceit  incurs  her  disapprobation,  from  which 
there  is  no  appeal,  and  the  delinquent  is  for  ever  banished  from 
refined  society.  Any  subtle  observation,  any  well-timed  silence, 
an  "  oh  "  uttered  in  an  appropriate  place  instead  of  an  "  ah," 
secures  from  her,  as  from  M.  Talleyrand,  a  diploma  of  good 
breeding  which  is  the  commencement  of  fame  and  the  promise 
of  a  fortune.  Under  such  an  "  instructress  "  it  is  evident  that 
deportment,  gesture,  language,  every  act  or  omission  in  this 
mundane  sphere,  becomes,  like  a  picture  or  poem,  a  veritable 
work  of  art;  that  is  to  say,  infinite  in  refinement,  at  once 
studied  and  easy  and  so  harmonious  in  its  details  that  its  perfec- 
tion conceals  the  difficulty  of  combining  them. 

A  great  lady  "receives  ten  persons  with  one  courtesy,  bestowing 
on  each,  through  the  head  or  by  a  glance,  all  that  he  is  entitled 
to ; " 4  meaning  by  this  the  shade  of  regard  due  to  each  phase  of 
position,  consideration,  and  birth.  "  She  has  always  to  deal  with 
easily  irritated  atnour-propres ;  consequently  the  slightest  defi- 
ciency in  proportion  would  be  promptly  detected." 5  But  she  is 
never  mistaken,  and  never  hesitates  in  these  subtle  distinctions; 
with  incomparable  tact,  dexterity,  and  flexibility  of  tone,  she  reg- 
ulates the  degrees  of  her  welcome.  She  has  one  "  for  women  of 
condition,  one  for  women  of  quality,  one  for  women  of  the  court, 
one  fcr  titled  women,  one  for  women  of  historic  names,  another 

1  See  an  anecdote  concerning  this  species  of  royalty  in  "Adele  et  Theodore,"  I.'.  69  by 
Mme.  de  Gsnlis.     Mme.  Vigee-Lebrun,  1. 156.     "Women  ruled  then;  the  Revolution  has  de- 
throned them.  .  .  .  This  gallantry  I  speak  of  has  entirely  disappeared." 

2  "Women  in  France  to  some  extent  dictate  whatever  is  to  be  said  and  prescribe  whatever  i* 
to  be  done  in  the  fashionable  world."     ("A  comparative  view,"  by  John  Andrews,  178}  4 

*  Mme.  d'Oberkirk,  I.  299 ;  Mine,  de  (Jenlis,  "  Memoires,"  ch.  xL 
«  De  Tilly,  I.  24. 

•  Necker,  "CEuvres  Completes,"  XV.  939. 


142  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  n. 

for  women  of  high  birth  personally,  but  married  to  men  beneath 
them ;  another  for  women  who  by  marriage  have  changed  a  com- 
mon into  a  distinguished  name ;  another  still  for  women  of  repu- 
table names  in  the  law ;  and,  finally,  another  for  those  whose  re- 
lief consists  chiefly  of  expensive  houses  and  good  suppers."  A 
stranger  would  be  amazed  on  seeing  with  what  certain  and  adroit 
steps  she  circulates  among  so  many  watchful  vanities  without  ever 
giving  or  receiving  a  check.  "She  knows  how  to  express  all 
through  the  style  of  her  salutations ;  a  varied  style,  extending 
through  imperceptible  gradations,  from  the  accessory  of  a  single 
shrug  of  the  shoulder,  almost  an  impertinence,  to  that  noble  and 
deferential  reverence  which  so  few  women,  even  of  the  court, 
know  how  to  do  well ;  that  slow  bending  forward,  with  lowered 
eyes  and  straightened  figure,  gradually  recovering  and  modestly 
glancing  at  the  person  while  gracefully  raising  the  body  up,  al- 
together much  more  refined  and  more  delicate  than  words,  but 
very  expressive  as  the  means  of  manifesting  respect."  This  is 
but  a  single  action  and  very  common  j  there  are  a  hundred 
others,  and  of  importance.  Imagine,  if  it  is  possible,  the  degree 
of  elegance  and  perfection  to  which  they  attained  through  good 
breeding.  I  select  one  at  random — a  duel  between  two  princes 
of  the  blood,  the  Comte  d'Artois  and  the  Due  de  Bourbon. ' 
The  latter  being  the  offended  party,  the  former,  his  superior,  had 
to  offer  him  a  meeting.  "As  soon  as  the  Comte  d'Artois  saw 
him  he  leaped  to  the  ground,  and  walking  directly  up  to  him,  said 
to  him  smiling :  '  Monsieur,  the  public  pretends  that  we  are  seek- 
ing each  other.'  The  Due  de  Bourbon,  removing  his  hat,  replied, 
'  Monsieur,  I  am  here  to  receive  your  orders.'  '  To  execute  your 
own,'  returned  the  Comte  d'Artois,  'but  you  must  allow  me  to 
return  to  my  carriage.'  He  comes  back  with  a  sword,  and  the 
duel  begins.  After  a  certain  time  they  are  separated,  the  seconds 
deciding  that  honor  is  satisfied.  '  It  is  not  for  me  to  express  an 
opinion,'  says  the  Comte  d'Artois.  '  Monsieur  le  Due  de  Bour- 
bon is  to  express  his  wishes;  I  am  here  only  to  receive  his  or- 
ders.' '  Monsieur,'  responds  the  Due  de  Bourbon,  addressing  the 
Comte  d'Artois,  meanwhile  lowering  the  point  of  his  sword,  '  I 
am  overcome  with  gratitude  for  your  kindness,  and  shall  never  be 
insensible  to  the  honor  you  have  done  me.' "  Could  there  be  a 

1  Narrated  by  M.  de  Bezenval,  a  witness  of  the  deed. 


CHAP.  H.  HABITS  AND  CHARACTERS.  14: 

juster  and  more  delicate  sentiment  of  rank,  position,  and  circum- 
stance, and  could  a  duel  be  surrounded  with  more  graces? 
There  is  no  situation,  however  thorny,  which  is  not  saved  by  po- 
liteness. Through  habit,  and  a  suitable  expression,  even  in  the 
face  of  the  king,  they  conciliate  resistance  and  respect.  When 
Louis  XV.,  having  exiled  the  Parliament,  caused  it  to  be  pro- 
claimed through  Mme.  Du  Barry  that  his  mind  was  made  up  and 
that  it  would  not  be  changed,  "Ah,  Madame,"  replied  the  Due 
de  Nivernais,  "  when  the  king  said  that  he  was  looking  at  your- 
self." "My  dear  Fontenelle,"  said  one  of  his  lady  friends  to 
him,  placing  her  hand  on  his  heart,  "  the  brain  is  there  likewise." 
Fontenelle  smiled  and  made  no  reply.  We  see  here,  even  with 
an  academician,  how  truths  are  forced  down,  a  drop  of  acid  in  a 
sugar-plum;  the  whole  so  thoroughly  intermingled  that  the 
piquancy  of  the  flavor  only  enhances  its  sweetness.  Night  after 
night,  in  each  drawing-room,  sugar-plums  of  this  description  are 
served  up,  two  or  three  along  with  the  drop  of  acidity,  all  the 
rest  not  less  exquisite,  but  possessing  only  the  sweetness  and  the 
perfume.  Such  is  the  art  of  social  worldliness,  an  ingenious  and 
delightful  art,  which,  entering  into  all  the  details  of  speech  and 
of  action,  transforms  them  into  graces;  which  imposes  on  man 
not  servility  and  falsehood,  but  civility  and  concern  for  others, 
and  which,  in  exchange,  extracts  for  him  out  of  human  society  all 
the  pleasure  it  can  afford. 

V. 

One  can  very  well  understand  this  kind  of  pleasure  in  a  sum- 
mary way,  but  how  is  it  to  be  made  apparent  ?  Taken  by  them- 
selves the  pastimes  of  society  are  not  to  be  described ;  they  are 
too  ephemeral;  their  charm  arises  from  their  accompaniments. 
A  narrative  of  them  would  be  but  tasteless  dregs, — does  the 
libretto  of  an  opera  give  any  idea  of  the  opera  itself?  If  the 
reader  would  revive  for  himself  this  vanished  world  let  him  seek 
for  it  in  those  works  that  have  preserved  its  externals  or  its  ac- 
cent, and  first  in  the  pictures  and  engravings  of  Watteau,  Fra- 
gonard  and  the  Saint-Aubins,  and  then  in  the  novels  and  drumas  of 
Voltaire  and  Marivaux,  and  even  in  Coll£  and  Crebilion  fels  ;  • 

'  See  especially,  Saint-Aubin,  "Le  bal  pare,"  "Le  Concert;"  Moreau,  "Les  Elegants/' 
"LA  Vie  d'un  Seigneur  4  la  mode,"  the  vignettes  of  "La  nouvelle  Hdloise;"  Beaudouin, 
"L*  Toilette,"  "  Le  Coucher  de  la  Mariee ; "  Lawrence,  " Qu'en  dit  1'abW ? "  Watteau,  th« 
first  in  date  and  in  talen*,  translates  these  customs  and  depicts  them  the  better  by  making 


144  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  n. 

then  do  we  see  the  breathing  figures  and  hear  their  voices 
What  bright,  winning,  intelligent  faces  beaming  with  pleasure  and 
with  the  desire  to  please !  What  ease  in  bearing  and  in  gesture ! 
What  piquant  grace  in  the  toilet,  in  the  smile,  in  vivacious- 
ness  of  expression,  in  the  control  of  the  fluted  voice,  in  the 
coquetry  of  hidden  meanings!  How  involuntarily  we  stop  to 
look  and  listen  1  Attractiveness  is  everywhere,  in  the  small 
spirituelle  heads,  in  the  slender  hands,  in  the  rumpled  attire,  in  the 
pretty  features,  in  the  demeanor.  The  slightest  gesture,  a 
pouting  or  mutinous  turn  of  the  head,  a  plump  little  wrist  peer- 
ing from  its  nest  of  lace,  a  yielding  waist  bent  over  an  embroid- 
ery frame,  the  rapid  rustling  of  an  opening  fan,  is  a  feast  for  the 
eyes  and  the  intellect.  It  is  indeed  all  daintiness,  a  delicate 
caress  for  delicate  senses,  extending  to  the  external  decoration  of 
life,  to  the  sinuous  outlines,  the  showy  drapery,  and  the  refinements 
of  comfort  in  the  furniture  and  architecture.  Fill  your  imagina- 
tion with  these  accessories  and  with  these  figures  and  you  will  take 
as  much  interest  in  their  amusements  as  they  did.  In  such  a 
place  and  in  such  company  it  suffices  to  be  together  to  be  con- 
tent. Their  indolence  is  no  burden  to  them  for  they  sport  with  ex- 
istence. At  Chanteloup,  the  Due  de  Choiseul,  in  disgrace,  finds 
the  fashionable  world  flocking  to  see  him;  nothing  is  done 
and  yet  no  hours  of  the  day  are  unoccupied.1  "  The  Duchess  has 
only  two  hours'  time  to  herself,  and  these  two  hours  are  de- 
voted to  her  toilet  and  her  letters;  the  calculation  is  a  simple 
one, — she  gets  up  at  eleven;  breakfasts  at  noon,  and  this  is  fol- 
lowed by  conversation,  which  lasts  three  or  four  hours;  dinner 
comes  at  six,  after  which  there  is  play  and  the  reading  of  the 
memoirs  of  Mme.  de  Maintenon."  Ordinarily  "  the  company  re- 
mains together  until  two  o'clock  in  the  morning."  Intellectual 
freedom  is  complete.  There  is  no  confusion,  no  anxiety.  They 
play  whist  and  tric-trac  in  the  afternoon  and  faro  in  the  evening, 
"  They  do  to-day  what  they  did  yesterday  and  what  they  will  do 
to-morrow ;  the  dinner-supper  is  to  them  the  most  important  af- 
fair in  life,  and  their  only  complaint  in  the  world  is  of  their  diges- 

thtm  more  poetic.  Of  the  rest,  read  "Marianne,"  by  Mar  /aux;  "La  Verit£  dans  le  vin,"  by 
Coll6;  "  Le  coin  du  feu,"  "La  nuit  et  le  momant,"  by  CreMlon/Ksv  and  two  letters  in  the 
"Correspondance  in^dite"  of  Mme.  du  Defiant,  one  by  the  Abb£  Barthelemy  and  the  othet 
by  the  Chevalier  de  Boufflers,  (I.  258,341.)- 

1  "Correspondance  in£dite  de  Mme.  du  Defiant,"  published  by  M.  de  Saint- Aulaire,  I.  933, 
«58»  896>  302>  363- 


CHAP.  II.  HABITS  AND  CHARACTERS.  14$ 

tion.  Time  goes  so  fast  I  always  fancy  that  I  arrived  only  the 
evening  before."  Sometimes  they  get  up  a  little  race  and  the 
ladies  are  disposed  to  take  part  in  it,  "for  they  are  all  very  spry 
and  able  to  run  around  the  drawing-room  five  or  six  times  every 
day."  But  they  prefer  indoors  to  the  open  air;  in  these  days 
true  sunshine  consists  of  candle-light  and  the  finest  sky  is  a 
painted  ceiling, — is  there  any  other  less  subject  to  inclemencies  or 
better  adapted  to  conversation  and  merriment  ?  They  accord- 
ingly chat  and  jest,  in  words  with  present  friends,  and  by  letters 
with  absent  friends.  They  lecture  old  Mme.  du  Deffant,  who  is 
too  lively  and  whom  they  style  the  "little  girl";  the  young 
Duchesse,  tender  and  sensible,  is  "her  grandmama."  As  for 
"grandpapa,"  M.  de  Choiseul,  "a  slight  cold  keeping  him  in 
bed  he  has  fairy  stories  read  to  him  all  day  long,  a  species  of 
reading  to  which  we  are  all  given ;  we  find  them  as  probable  as 
modern  history.  Do  not  imagine  that  he  is  unoccupied.  He 
has  had  a  tapestry  frame  put  up  in  the  drawing-room  at  which 
he  works,  I  cannot  say  with  the  greatest  skill,  but  at  least  with 
the  greatest  assiduity.  .  .  .  Now,  our  delight  is  in  flying  a  kite ; 
grandpapa  has  never  seen  this  sight  and  he  is  enraptured  with  it." 
The  pastime,  in  itself,  is  nothing;  it  is  resorted  to  according  to 
opportunity  or  the  taste  of  the  hour,  now  taken  up  and  now  let 
alone,  and  the  abbe  soon  writes :  "  I  do  not  speak  about  our  races 
because  we  race  no  more,  nor  of  our  readings  because  we  do  not 
read,  nor  of  our  promenades  because  we  do  not  go  out.  What, 
then,  do  we  do?  Some  play  billiards,  others  dominoes,  and 
others  backgammon.  We  weave,  we  ravel  and  we  unravel. 
Time  presses  and  we  make  the  best  of  it." 

Other  circles  present  the  same  spectacle.  Every  occupation 
being  an  amusement,  a  caprice  or  an  impulse  of  fashion  brings 
one  into  favor.  At  present,  it  is  unravelling,  every  white  hand  at 
Paris,  and  in  the  chateaux,  being  busy  in  undoing  trimmings, 
epaulettes  and  old  stuffs,  to  pick  out  the  gold  and  silver  threads. 
They  find  in  this  employment  the  semblance  of  economy,  an  ap- 
pearance of  occupation,  in  any  event  something  to  keep  them  in 
countenance.  On  a  circle  of  ladies  being  formed  a  big  unravel- 
ling bag  in  green  taffeta  is  placed  on  the  table,  which  belongs  to 
the  lady  of  the  house ;  immediately  all  the  ladies  call  for  their 
bags  and  "  voila  les  laquais  en  I'air." l  It  is  all  the  rage.  They 

1  Mme.  de  Genlis,  "Diet,  des  Etiquettes,"  II.  38.     "Adele  et  Theodore,"  I.  212;  II.  350 
George  Sand,  "Histoire  de  ma  vie,"  I.  228.     De  Goncourt,  p.  in. 


146  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  n. 

unravel  every  day  and  several  hours  in  the  day ;  some  derive  from 
it  a  hundred  louis  d'or  per  annum.  The  gentlemen  are  expected 
to  provide  the  materials  for  the  work;  the  Due  de  Lauzun,  ac- 
cordingly, gives  to  Madame  de  V a  harp  of  natural  size 

covered  with  gold  thread;  an  enormous  golden  fleece,  brought 
as  a  present  from  the  Comte  de  Lowenthal,  and  which  cost  two 
or  three  thousand  francs,  brings,  picked  to  pieces,  five  or  six  hun- 
dred francs.  But  they  do  not  look  into  matters  so  closely.  Some 
employment  is  essential  for  idle  hands,  some  manual  outlet  for 
nervous  activity ;  a  humorous  petulance  breaks  out  in  the  middle 
of  the  pretended  work.  One  day,  when  about  going  out,  Ma- 
dame de  R observes  that  the  gold  fringe  on  her  dress  would 

be  capital  for  unraveling  whereupon,  with  a  dash,  she  cuts  one  of 
the  fringes  off.  Ten  women  suddenly  surround  a  man  wearing 
fringes,  pull  off  his  coat  and  put  his  fringes  and  laces  into  their  bags, 
just  as  if  a  bold  flock  of  tomtits,  fluttering  and  chattering  in  the  air, 
should  suddenly  dart  on  a  jay  to  pluck  off  its  feathers ;  thence- 
forth a  man  who  enters  a  circle  of  women  stands  in  danger  of 
being  stripped  alive.  All  this  pretty  world  has  the  same  pas- 
times, the  men  as  well  as  the  women.  Scarcely  a  man  can 
be  found  without  some  drawing-room  accomplishment,  some  tri- 
fling way  of  keeping  his  mind  and  hands  busy  and  of  filling  up 
the  vacant  hour ;  almost  all  make  rhymes,  or  act  in  private  the- 
atricals; many  of  them  are  musicians  and  painters  of  still-life 
subjects.  M.  de  Choiseul,  as  we  have  just  seen,  works  at  tap- 
estry ;  others  embroider  or  make  sword-knots.  M.  de  Francueil 
is  a  good  violinist  and  makes  violins  himself,  and  besides  this  he 
is  "  watchmaker,  architect,  turner,  painter,  locksmith,  decorator, 
cook,  poet,  music-composer  and  he  embroiders  remarkably  well." J 
In  this  general  state  of  inactivity  it  is  essential  "  to  know  how  to 
be  pleasantly  occupied  in  behalf  of  others  as  well  as  in  one's  own 
behalf."  Madame  de  Pompadour  is  a  musician,  an  actress,  a 
painter  and  an  engraver.  Madame  Adelaide  learns  watchmaking 
and  plays  on  all  instruments  from  a  horn  to  the  jew's-harp,  not 
very  well,  it  is  true,  but  as  well  as  a  queen  can  sing,  whose  fine 
voice  is  only  ever  half  in  tune.  But  they  make  no  pretensions. 
The  thing  is  to  amuse  oneself  and  nothing  more ;  high  spirits  and 
the  amenities  of  the  hour  cover  all.  Rather  read  this  capital  fact 

1  George  Sand,  I.  59. 


CHAP.  II.  HABITS  AND  CHARACTERS.  14? 

of  Madame  de  Lauzun  at  Chanteloup  :  "  Do  you  know,"  writes 
the  abb£,  "  that  nobody  possesses  in  a  higher  degree  one  quality 
which  you  would  never  suspect  of  her,  that  of  preparing  scram- 
bled eggs?  This  talent  has  been  buried  in  the  ground, — she 
cannot  recall  the  time  she  acquired  it ;  I  believe  that  she  had  it 
at  her  birth.  Accident  made  it  known,  and  immediately  it  was 
put  to  the  test.  Yesterday  morning,  an  hov.r  for  ever  memorable 
in  the  history  of  eggs,  the  implements  necessary  for  this  great 
operation  were  all  brought  out,  a  heater,  some  gravy,  some  pep- 
per, salt  and  eggs.  Behold  Madame  de  Lauzun,  at  first  blush- 
ing and  in  a  tremor,  soon  with  intrepid  courage,  breaking  the  eggs, 
beating  them  up  in  the  pan,  turning  them  over,  now  to  the  right, 
now  to  the  left,  now  up  and  now  down,  with  unexampled  precision 
and  success !  Never  was  a  more  excellent  dish  eaten."  What 
laughter  and  gayety  in  the  group  comprised  in  this  little  scene. 
And,  not  long  after,  what  madrigals  and  allusions !  Gayety  here 
resembles  a  dancing  ray  of  sunlight;  it  flickers  over  all  things 
and  reflects  its  grace  on  every  object. 

VI. 

"The  Frenchman's  characteristic,"  says  an  English  traveller  in 
1 785,  "is  to  be  always  gay ; " a  and  he  remarks  that  he  must  be  so 
because  in  France,  such  is  the  tone  of  society  and  the  only  mode  of 
pleasing  the  ladies,  the  sovereigns  of  society  and  the  arbiters 
of  good  taste.  Add  to  this  the  absence  of  the  causes  which  pro- 
duce modern  dreariness  and  which  convert  the  sky  above  our 
heads  into  one  of  leaden  gloom.  There  was  no  laborious,  forced 
work  in  those  days,  no  furious  competition,  no  uncertain  careers, 
no  infinite  perspectives.  Ranks  were  clearly  denned,  ambitions 
limited,  and  there  was  less  envy.  Man  was  not  habitually  dissatis- 
fied, soured  and  preoccupied  as  he  is  nowadays.  Few  free  passes 
were  allowed  where  there  was  no  right  to  pass;  we  think  of 
nothing  but  advancement ;  they  thought  only  of  amusing  them- 
selves. An  officer,  instead  of  raging  and  storming  over  the  year- 
book, busies  himself  in  inventing  some  new  disguise  for  a  masked- 
ball  ;  a  magistrate,  instead  of  counting  the  convictions  he  nas  se- 
cured, provides  a  magnificent  supper.  At  Paris,  every  afternoon 
in  the  left  avenue  of  the  Palais-Royal  "fine  company,  very  richly 

1  ''A  comparative  view,'  etc.,  by  John  Andrews. 


148  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  IL 

dressed,  gather  under  the  large  trees;"  and  in  the  evening  "on 
leaving  the  opera  at  half-past  eight,  they  go  back  there  and  re- 
main until  two  o'clock  in  the  morning."  They  have  music  in  the 
open  air  by  moonlight,  Gavat  singing,  and  the  chevalier  de 
Saint-George  playing  on  the  violin.1  At  Morfontaine,  "the 
Comte  de  Vaudreuil,  Lebrun  the  poet,  the  chevalier  de  Coigny,  so 
amiable  and  so  gay,  Brongniart,  Rotert,  compose  charades 
every  night  and  wake  each  other  up  to  rehearse  them. "  At  Mau- 
pertuis  in  M.  de  Montesquieu's  house,  at  Saint-Ouen  with  the 
Marshal  de  Noailles,  at  Genevilliers  with  the  Comte  de  Vau- 
dreuil, at  Rainay  with  the  Due  d'Orle'ans,  at  Chantilly  with  the 
Prince  de  Conde",  there  is  nothing  but  festivity.  We  read  no 
biography  of  the  day,  no  provincial  document,  no  inventory, 
without  hearing  the  tinkling  of  the  universal  carnival.  At  Mon- 
choix,2  the  residence  of  the  Comte  de  Be'de'e,  Chateaubriand's 
uncle,  "they  had  music,  dancing  and  hunting,  rollicking  from 
morning  to  night,  eating  up  both  capital  and  income."  At  Aix 
and  Marseilles,  throughout  the  fashionable  world,  with  the  Comte 
de  Valbelle,  I  find  nothing  but  concerts,  entertainments,  balls, 
gallantries,  and  private  theatricals  with  the  Comtesse  de  Mira- 
beau  for  the  leading  performer.  At  Chateauroux,  M.  Dupin  de 
Francueil  entertains  "a  troop  of  musicians,  lackeys,  cooks,  para- 
sites, horses  and  dogs,  bestowing  everything  lavishly,  in  amuse- 
ments and  in  charity,  wishing  to  be  happy  himself  and  everybody 
else  around  him,"  never  casting  up  accounts,  and  going  to  ruin  in 
the  most  delightful  manner  possible.  Nothing  arrests  this  gayety, 
not  old  age,  nor  exile,  nor  misfortune;  in  1793  it  still  subsists  in 
the  prisons  of  the  Republic.  A  man  in  place  is  not  then  made 
uncomfortable  by  his  official  coat,  perked  up  by  his  situation, 
obliged  to  maintain  a  dignified  and  important  air,  constrained  under 
that  assumed  gravity  which  democratic  envy  imposes  on  us  as  if  a 
ransom.  In  1753,'  the  parliamentarians,  just  exiled  to  Bourges, 
get  up  three  companies  of  private  theatricals  and  perform  come- 
dies, while  one  of  them,  M.  Dupr£  de  Saint-Maur  fights  a  rival 
with  the  sword.  In  1787,*  when  the  entire  parliament  is  banished 
to  Troyes  the  bishop,  M.  de  Barrall,  returns  from  his  chateau  de 

1  Mme.  Vig6e-Lebrun,  I.  15,  154. 
'Chateaubriand,  I.  34.     "Me'moires  de  Mirabeau," passim.     George  Sand,  I.  59,  76. 

*  Comptes  rendus  de  la  soci£t£  de  Berry  (1863-1864). 
*  "HIstoire  de  Troyes  pendant  la  Revolution,"  by  Albert  Babeau,  I.  46. 


CHAl.  II.  HABITS  AND  CHARACTERS.  149 

Saint  Lye  expressly  to  receive  it,  presiding  every  evening  at  a  din- 
ner of  forty  persons.  "There  was  no  end  to  the  fetes  and  din- 
ners in  the  town ;  the  president  kept  open  h  Duse,"  a  triple  quan- 
tity of  food  being  consumed  in  the  eating-houses  and  so  much 
wood  burned  in  the  kitchens,  that  the  town  came  near  being  put 
on  short  allowance.  Feasting  and  jollity  is  but  little  less  in  or- 
dinary times.  A  parliamentarian,  like  a  seignior,  must  do  credit 
to  his  fortune.  See  the  letters  of  the  President  des  Brosses  con- 
cerning society  in  Dijon;  it  reminds  us  of  the  abbey  of  The"- 
leme;  then  contrast  this  with  the  same  town  to-day.1  In  1744 
Monseigneur  de  Montigny,  brother  of  the  President  de  Boui 
bonne,  apropos  of  the  king's  recovery,  entertains  the  workmen, 
tradesmen  and  artisans  in  his  employ  to  the  number  of  eighty, 
another  table  being  for  his  musicians  and  comedians,  and  a  third 
for  his  clerks,  secretaries,  physicians,  surgeons,  attorneys  and  no- 
taries; the  crowd  collects  around  a  triumphal  car  covered  with 
shepherdesses,  shepherds  and  rustic  divinities  in  theatrical  costume; 
fountains  flow  with  wine  "as  if  it  were  water,"  and  after  supper 
the  confectionery  is  thrown  out  of  the  windows.  Each  parlia- 
mentarian around  him  has  his  "  little  Versailles,  a  grand  hotel  be- 
tween court  and  garden."  This  town,  now  so  silent,  then  rang 
with  the  clatter  of  fine  equipages.  The  profusion  of  the  table 
is  astonishing,  "  not  only  on  gala  days,  but  at  the  suppers  of  each 
week,  and  I  could  almost  say,  of  each  day."  Amidst  all  these  fete- 
givers,  the  most  illustrious  of  all,  the  President  des  Brosses,  so 
grave  on  the  magisterial  bench,  so  intrepid  in  his  remonstrances,  so 
laborious,2  so  learned,  is  an  extraordinary  stimulator  of  fun  (boute- 
entrain),  a  genuine  Gaul,  with  a  sparkling,  inexhaustible  fund  of 
salacious  humor:  with  his  friends  he  throws  off  his  perruque, 
his  gown,  and  even  something  more.  Nobody  dreams  of  being 
offended  by  it;  nobody  conceives  that  dress  is  an  extinguisher, 
which  is  true  of  every  species  of  dress,  and  of  the  gown  in  par- 
Ocular.  "When  I  entered  society,  in  1785,"  writes  a  parliamen- 
tarian, "  I  found  myself  introduced  in  a  certain  way,  alike  to  the 

'  Foisset,  "Le  President  des  Brosses,"  65,  69,  70,  345.  "Lettres  du  President  des  Brosses," 
'ed.  Coulomb),  passim.  Piron  being  uneasy  concerning  his  "Ode  a  Priape,"  President 
Bouhier,  a  man  of  great  and  fine  erudition,  and  the  least  starched  of  learned  ones,  sent  fhr 
the  young  man  and  said  to  him,  "  You  are  a  foolish  fellow.  If  any  one  presses  you  to  know 
the  author  of  the  offence  tell  him  that  I  am."  (Sainte-Beuve,  "Nouveaux  Lundis,"  VII. 
4I4-) 

*  Foisset,  ibid.  185.  Six  audiences  a  week  and  often  two  a  day  besides  bis  labors  at  antl 
^uarian,  historian,  linguist,  geographer,  editor  and  academician, 

13* 


150  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  IL 

wives  and  the  mistresses  of  the  friends  of  my  family,  passing 
Monday  evening  with  one,  and  Tuesday  evening  with  the  other. 
And  I  was  only  eighteen,  and  I  belonged  to  a  family  of  magis- 
trates." l  At  Basville,  at  the  residence  of  M.  de  Lamoignon,  dur- 
ing the  autumnal  vacation  and  the  Whitsuntide  holidays,  there 
are  thirty  persons  at  the  table  daily ;  there  are  three  or  four  hunts 
a  week,  and  the  most  prominent  magistrates,  M.  de  Lamoignon, 
M.  Pasquier,  M.  de  Rosambo,  M.  and  Mme.  d'Aguesseau,  per- 
form the  "  Barber  of  Seville  "  in  the  chateau  theatre. 

As  for  the  cassock  it  enjoys  the  same  freedom  as  the  robe. 
At  Saverne,  at  Clairvaux,  at  Le  Mans  and  at  other  places,  the 
prelates  wear  it  as  freely  as  a  court  dress.  The  revolutionary 
upheaval  was  necessary  to  make  it  a  fixture  on  their  bodies  and, 
afterwards,  the  hostile  supervision  of  an  organized  party  and  the 
fear  of  constant  danger.  Up  to  1789  the  sky  is  too  serene  and 
the  atmosphere  too  balmy  to  lead  them  to  button  it  up  to  the 
neck.  "  Freedom,  facilities,  Monsieur  1'Abbe,"  said  the  Cardinal 
de  Rohan  to  his  secretary,  "without  these  this  life  would  be 
a  desert."2  This  is  what  the  good  cardinal  took  care  to  avoid; 
on  the  contrary  he  had  made  Saverne  an  enchanting  world 
according  to  Watteau,  almost  "a  landing-place  for  Cythera." 
Six  hundred  peasants  and  keepers  ranged  in  a  line  a  league  long, 
form  in  the  morning  and  beat  up  the  surrounding  country  while 
hunters,  men  and  women,  are  posted  at  their  stations.  "For 
fear  that  the  ladies  might  be  frightened  if  left  alone  by  them- 
selves, the  man  whom  they  hated  least  was  always  left  with  them 
to  tranquillize  them,"  and  as  nobody  was  allowed  to  leave  his 
post  before  the  signal  "  it  was  impossible  to  be  surprised."  About 
an  hour  after  noonday  "  the  company  gathered  under  a  beautiful 
tent,  on  the  bank  of  a  stream  or  in  some  delightful  place,  where 
an  exquisite  dinner  was  served  up,  and,  as  every  one  had  to  be 
made  happy,  each  peasant  received  a  pound  of  meat,  two  of 
bread  and  half  a  bottle  of  wine,  only  asking  to  begin  it  all  over 
again,  as  well  as  the  ladies."  The  accommodating  prelate  might 
certainly  have  replied  to  scrupulous  people  along  with  Voltaire, 
that  "nothing  is  wrong  in  good  society."  In  fact,  he  so  made 
answer,  and  in  these  very  terms.  One  day,  a  lady  accompanied 

1  "Souvenirs  manuscripts,"  by  M.  X .     (As  the  author's  name  cannot  be  given  I  lhal 

use  this  designation  hereafter.) 
'  De  Valfons,  "Souvenirs,"  60. 


CHAP.  II.  HABITS  AND  CHARACTERS.  151 

by  a  young  officer,  having  come  on  a  visit,  and  being  obliged  to 
keep  them  over  night,  his  valet  comes  and  whispers  to  him  that 
there  is  no  more  room.  " '  Is  the  bath-room  occupied  ? '  '  No, 
Monseigneur ! '  '  Are  there  not  two  beds  there  ?  '  '  Yes,  Mon- 
seigneur,  but  they  are  both  in  the  same  chamber,  and  that 
officer — '  '  Very  well,  didn't  they  come  together  ?  Shallow 
people  like  you  always  see  something  wrong.  You  will  find  that 
they  will  agree  very  well  together, — there  is  not  the  slightest 
reason  to  object.'"  And  really  nobody  did  object,  either  the 
officer  or  the  lady.  At  Granselve,  in  the  Gard,  the  Bernardines 
are  still  more  hospitable.1  People  resort  to  the  f<§te  of  St.  Ber- 
nard which  lasts  a  couple  of  weeks ;  during  this  time  they  dance, 
and  hunt,  and  act  comedies,  "the  tables  being  ready  at  all 
hours."  The  quarters  of  the  ladies  are  provided  with  every 
requisite  for  the  toilet;  they  lack  nothing,  and  it  is  even  said 
that  it  was  not  necessary  for  any  of  them  to  bring  their  officer. 
I  might  cite  twenty  prelates  not  less  gallant, — the  second  Cardi- 
nal de  Rohan,  the  hero  of  the  necklace,  M.  de  Jarente,  bishop 
of  Orleans,  who  keeps  the  record  of  benefices,  the  young  M.  de 
Grimaldi,  bishop  of  Le  Mans,  M.  de  Breteuil,  bishop  of  Mont- 
auban,  M.  de  Cic6,  archbishop  of  Bordeaux,  the  Cardinal  de 
Montmorency,  grand-almoner,  M.  de  Talleyrand,  bishop  of 
Autun,  M.  de  Conzie",  bishop  of  Arras,2  and,  in  the  first  rank,  the 
Abb6  de  Saint-Germain  des  Pres,  Comte  de  Clermont,  prince 
of  the  blood,  who,  with  an  income  of  three  hundred  and 
seventy  thousand  francs  succeeds  in  ruining  himself  twice,  who 
performs  in  comedies  in  his  town  and  country  residences,  who 
writes  to  Colle"  in  a  pompous  style  and,  who,  in  his  abbatial 
mansion  at  Berny,  installs  Mademoiselle  Leduc,  a  dancer,  to  do 
the  honors  of  his  table.  There  is  no  hypocrisy.  In  the  house 
of  M.  Trudaine,  four  bishops  attend  the  performance  of  a  piece 
by  Coll6  entitled  "  Les  accidents  ou  les  Abbe's,"  the  substance 
of  which,  says  Colle  himself,  is  so  free  that  he  did  not  dare  print 
it  along  with  his  other  pieces.  A  little  later,  Beaumarchais, 
on  reading  his  "  Marriage  of  Figaro  "  at  the  Mare"chal  de  Riche- 

Montgaillard  (an  eye-witness),  "Histoire  de  France,"  II.  246. 

*  M.  de  Conzifi  is  surprised  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  by  a  rival,  an  officer  in  Ole  guards. 
"Make  no  noise,"  said  he  to  him,  "my  coat  which  is  like  yours  will  be  brought  to  me  and  I 
will  make  a  queue  so  that  we  shall  be  on  the  same  footing."  A  valet  brings  Lira  his  weapons. 
He  descends  into  the  garden  of  the  mansion,  fights  with  the  officer  and  disarms  him.  ("Cor- 
respondance,"  by  Me'tra,  XIV.  May  20,  1783.)  "Le  Comte  de  Clermont,"  by  Jules  Cousia 
fatsim.  "Journal  de  ColleY'  III.  232  (July,  1769). 


«52  THE  ANCIEN7  REGIME.  BOOK  it 

lieu's  domicile,  not  expurgated,  much  more  crude  and  coarse 
than  it  is  to-day,  has  bishops  and  archbishops  for  his  auditors, 
and  these,  he  says,  "after  being  infinitely  amused  by  it,  did 
me  the  honor  to  assure  me  that  they  would  state  that  there  was 
not  a  single  word  in  it  offensive  to  good  morals :  "  *  thus  was 
the  piece  accepted  against  reasons  of  State,  against  the  king's 
will,  and  through  the  connivance  of  all  those  most  interested 
in  suppressing  it.  "There  is  something  more  irrational  than  my 
piece  and  that  is  its  success,"  said  its  author.  The  attraction 
was  too  strong.  People  devoted  to  pleasure  could  not  dispense 
with  the  liveliest  comedy  of  the  age.  They  came  to  applaud 
a  satire  on  themselves ;  and  better  still,  they  themselves  acted  in 
it.  A  prevalent  taste  ends,  like  a  powerful  passion,  in  extremes 
which  become  follies;  it  must  enjoy  what  is  offered  to  it  at  any 
cost ;  any  momentary  gratification  of  it  is  as  with  a  child  tempted 
by  fruit ;  nothing  arrests  it,  neither  the  danger  to  which  it  is  in- 
sensible, nor  the  sense  of  propriety  it  establishes  for  itself. 

VII. 

To  divert  oneself  is  to  turn  aside  from  oneself,  to  get  away  from 
oneself,  and  to  forget  oneself;  and  to  forget  oneself  fully  one 
must  be  transported  into  another,  put  himself  in  the  place  of  an- 
other, take  his  mask  and  play  his  part.  Hence  the  liveliest 
of  diversions  is  the  comedy  in  which  one  is  an  actor.  It  is 
that  of  children  who,  as  authors,  actors  and  audience,  improvise 
and  represent  petty  scenes  the  livelong  day.  It  is  that  of  a  people 
whose  political  regime  excludes  manly  solicitudes,  and  who  sport 
with  life  after  the  fashion  of  children.  At  Venice,  in  the  eigh- 
teenth century,  the  carnival  lasts  six  months ;  in  France,  under 
another  form,  it  lasts  the  entire  year.  Less  familiar  and  less  pict- 
uresque, more  refined  and  more  elegant,  it  abandons  the  public 
square  where  it  lacks  sunshine,  to  shut  itself  up  in  drawing-rooms 
where  chandeliers  are  the  most  suitable  for  it.  It  has  retained 
of  the  vast  popular  masquerade  only  a  fragment,  the  opera  ball, 
very  splendid  and  frequented  by  princes,  princesses  and  the 
queen;  but  this  fragment,  brilliant  as  it  is,  does  not  suffice;  con- 
sequently, in  every  chateau,  in  every  mansion,  at  Paris  and  in 
the  provinces,  it  sets  up  travesties  on  society  and  domestic  com- 

1  De  Lomenie,  "  Beaumarchais  et  son  temps,"  II.  304. 


CHAP.  in.  HABITS  AND  CHARACTERS.  15; 

edies.  On  welcoming  a  great  personage,  on  celebrating  the  birth 
day  of  the  master  or  mistress  of  the  house,  its  guests  or  invited 
persons  perform  in  an  improvised  operetta,  in  an  ingenious, 
laudatory  pastoral,  sometimes  dressed  as  gods,  as  Virtues,  as 
mythological  abstractions,  as  operatic  Turks,  Laplanders  and 
Poles,  similar  to  the  figures  then  gracing  the  frontispieces  of 
books,  sometimes  in  the  dress  of  peasants,  pedagogues,  pedlars, 
milkmaids  and  flower-girls  like  the  fanciful  villagers  with  which  the 
current  taste  then  fills  the  stage.  They  sing,  they  dance,  and 
come  forward  in  turn  to  recite  petty  verses  composed  for  the  occa- 
sion consisting  of  so  many  well-turned  compliments.1  At  Chantilly 
"the  young  and  charming  Duchesse  de  Bourbon,  attired  as  a 
voluptuous  Naiad,  guides  the  Comte  du  Nord,  in  a  gilded  gon- 
dola, across  the  grand  canal  to  the  island  of  Love ; "  the  Prince 
de  Conti,  in  his  part,  serves  as  pilot  to  the  Grand  Duchesse; 
other  seigniors  and  ladies  "each  in  allegorical  guise,"  form  the 
escort,2  and  on  these  limpid  waters,  in  this  new  garden  of  Alci- 
nous,  the  smiling  and  gallant  retinue  seems  a  fairy  scene  in  Tasso. 
At  Vaudreil,  the  ladies,  advised  that  they  are  to  be  carried  off  to 
seraglios,  attire  themselves  as  vestals,  while  the  high-priest  wel- 
comes them  with  pretty  couplets  into  his  temple  in  the  park; 
meanwhile  over  three  hundred  Turks  arrive  who  force  the  enclos- 
ure to  the  sound  of  music,  and  bear  away  the  ladies  in  palanquins 
along  the  illuminated  gardens.  At  the  little  Trianon,  the  park  is 
arranged  as  a  fair,  and  the  ladies  of  the  court  are  the  saleswomen, 
"  the  queen  keeping  a  cafe,"  while,  here  and  there,  are  processions 
and  theatricals;  this  festival  costs,  it  is  said,  one  hundred  thou- 
sand livres,  and  a  repetition  of  it  is  designed  at  Choisy  attended 
with  a  larger  outlay. 

Alongside  of  these  masquerades  which  stop  at  costume  and 
require  only  an  hour,  there  is  a  more  important  diversion,  the 
private  theatrical  performance,  which  completely  transforms  the 
man,  and  which  for  six  weeks,  and  even  for  three  months,  absorbs 
him  entirely  at  rehearsals.  Towards  i77o3  "the  rage  for  if  is 

1  De  Luynes,  XVI.  161  (September,  1757).  The  village  festival  given  to  King  Stanislas 
Dy  Mme.  de  Mauconseil  at  Bagatelle.  Bachaumont,  III.  247  (September  7,  1767).  Festival 
given  by  the  Prince  de  Cond£. 

*  "  Correspondance,"  by  M£tra,  XIII.  97  (June  15,  1782),  and  V.  232  (June  24  and  25, 
1777).  Mme.  de  Genlis  "  M£moires,"  chap.  xiv. 

»  Bachaumont,  November  17,  1770.  "Journal  de  Colle,"  III.  136  (April  29,  1767).  De 
Montlosier,  "Memoires,"  I.  43.  "At  the  residence  of  the  Commandant  (at  Clerraont)  they 
would  have  been  glad  to  enlist  me  in  private  theatricals." 


r54  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  It 

incredible ;  there  is  not  an  attorney  in  his  cottage  who  does  not 
wish  to  have  a  stage  and  his  company  of  actors."  A  Bernardine 
living  in  Bresse,  in  the  middle  of  a  wood,  writes  to  Colle  that  he 
and  his  brethren  are  about  to  perform  "La  Partie  de  Chasse  de 
Henri  IV.,"  and  that  they  are  having  a  small  theatre  constructed 
"without  the  knowledge  of  bigots  and  small  minds."  Reformers 
and  moralists  introduce  theatrical  art  into  the  education  of  chil- 
dren ;  Mme.  de  Genlis  composes  comedies  for  them,  considering 
these  excellent  for  the  securing  of  a  good  pronunciation, 
proper  self-confidence  and  the  graces  of  deportment.  The  theatre, 
indeed,  then  prepares  man  for  society  as  society  prepares  him  for  the 
theatre;  in  either  case  he  is  on  representation,  composing  his 
attitude  and  tone  of  voice,  and  playing  a  part ;  the  stage  and  the 
drawing-room  are  on  an  equal  footing.  Towards  the  end  of  the 
century  everybody  becomes  an  actor,  everybody  having  been  one 
before.1  "We  hear  of  nothing  but  little  theatres  set  up  in  the 
country  around  Paris."  For  a  long  time  those  of  highest  rank 
set  the  example.  Under  Louis  XV.  the  Dues  d' Orleans,  de 
Nivernais,  d'Ayen,  de  Coigny,  the  Marquises  de  Courtenvaux, 
and  d'Entraigues,  the  Comte  de  Maillebois,  the  Duchesse  de 
Brancas,  the  Comtesse  d'Estrades  form,  with  Madame  de  Pom- 
padour, the  company  of  the  "small  cabinets;"  the  Due  de  la 
Valliere  is  the  director  of  them ;  when  the  piece  contains  a  ballet 
the  Marquis  de  Courtenvaux,  the  Due  de  Beuvron,  the  Comtes 
de  Melfort  and  de  Langeron  are  the  titulary  dancers.2  "Those 
who  are  accustomed  to  such  spectacles,"  writes  the  sedate  and 
pious  Due  de  Luynes,  "  agree  in  the  opinion  that  it  would  be 
difficult  for  professional  comedians  to  play  better  and  more  intelli- 
gently." The  passion  reaches  at  last  still  higher,  even  to  the 
royal  family.  At  Trianon,  the  queen,  at  first  before  forty  persons 
and  then  before  a  more  numerous  audience,  performs  Colette  in 
"Le  Devin  de  Village,"  Gotte,  in  "  La  Gageure  impreVue,"  Rosine 
in  "Le  Barbier  de  Seville,"  Pierette  in  "Le  Chasseur  et  la 
Laitiere," 3  while  the  other  comedians  consist  of  the  principal  men 
of  the  court,  the  Comte  d'Artois,  the  Comtes  d'Adhe"mar  and  de 

1  "Conwspondance,"  by  M6tra,  II.  245  (Nov.  it,  1775). 

•Julien,  "Histoire  du  Theatre  de  Madame  de  Pompadour."  These  icpresentadons  last 
seven  years  and  cost  during  the  winter  alone  of  1749,  300,000  livres.  De  Luynes,  X.  45. 
Mme.  du  Hausset,  230. 

*  Mme.  Campari,  I.  130.     C£  with  caution  the  very  suspicious  Memoirs,  much  made  up,  o 
Fleury.     De  Goncourt,  114. 


CHAP,  ill  HABITS  AND  CHARACTERS.  155 

Vaudreuil,  the  Comtesse  de  Guiche,and  the  Canoness  de  Polignac. 
A  theatre  is  formed  in  Monsieur's  domicile ;  there  are  two  in  the 
Comte  d'Artois's  house,  two  in  that  of  the  Due  d'Or!6ans,  two  in 
the  Comte  de  Clermont's,  and  one  in  the  Prince  de  Conde's. 
The  Comte  de  Clermont  performs  serious  characters;  the  Due 
d'Orle'ans  represents  with  completeness  and  naturalness,  peas- 
ants and  financiers ;  M.  de  Miromesnil,  keeper  of  the  seals,  is  the 
smartest  and  most  finished  of  Scapins ;  M.  de  Vaudreuil  seems  to 
rival  Mole;  the  Comte  de  Pons  plays  the  "Misanthrope"  with 
rare  perfection.1  "More  than  ten  of  our  ladies  of  high  rank," 
writes  the  Prince  de  Ligne,  "play  and  sing  better  than  the  best 
of  those  I  have  seen  in  our  theatres."  By  their  talent  judge  of 
their  study,  assiduity  and  zeal.  It  is  evident  that  for  many  of 
them  it  is  the  principal  occupation.  In  a  certain  chateau,  that 
of  Saint- Aubin,  the  lady  of  the  house,  to  secure  a  large  enough 
troupe,  enrolls  her  four  chambermaids  in  it,  making  her  little 
daughter,  ten  years  old,  play  the  part  of  Zaire,  and  for  over  twenty 
months  she  has  no  vacation.  After  her  bankruptcy,  and  in  her  exile, 
the  first  thing  done  by  the  Princess  de  Gu6m6nee  was  to  send  for 
upholsterers  to  arrange  a  theatre.  In  short,  as  nobody  went  out 
in  Venice  without  a  mask  so  here  nobody  comprehended  life 
without  the  masqueradings,  metamorphoses,  representations  and 
triumphs  of  the  player. 

The  last  trait  I  have  to  mention,  yet  more  significant,  is  the 
after-piece.  Really,  in  this  fashionable  circle,  life  is  a  carni- 
val as  free  and  almost  as  rakish  as  that  of  Venice.  The  play 
commonly  terminates  with  a  parade  borrowed  from  La  Fon- 
taine's tales  or  from  the  farces  of  the  Italian  drama  which  are 
not  only  pointed  but  more  than  free,  and  sometimes  so  broad 
"  that  they  can  be  played  only  before  princes  and  courtesans ; " a 
a  morbid  palate,  indeed,  having  no  taste  for  orgeat,  and  de- 
manding a  dram.  The  Due  d'Orle"ans  sings  on  the  stage  the 
most  spicy  songs,  playing  Bartholin  in  "  Nicaise,"  and  Blaise  in 
"Joconde."  "  Le  Marriage  sans  CureV'  "  Leandre  grosse," 
"L'amant  poussif,"  "Leandre  Etalon,"  are  the  showy  titles  of  the 

1  Jules  Cousin,  "  Le  Comte  de  Clermont,"  p.  21.  Mme.  de  Genlis,  "  M6moires,'  chap  ill 
and  xi.  De  Goncourt,  14. 

*  Bachaumont,  III.  343  (February  23,  1768)  and  IV.  174,  III.  232.  "Journal  de  ColM," 
tassim.  Coll6,  Laujon  and  Poisinet  are  the  principal  purveyors  for  these  displays ;  the  only 
one  of  merit  is  "La  Verite'  dans  la  Vin."  In  this  piece  instead  of  "Mylord,"  there  is  the 
"  bishop  of  Avranches,"  and  the  piece  was  thus  performer'  at  Villers-Cotterets  in  the  house  of 
the  Due  d'Orlean*. 


156  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME,  BOOK  u, 

pieces  composed  by  Colle"  "  for  the  amusement  of  His  Highnesi 
and  the  Court."  For  one  which  contains  salt  there  are  ten  stuffed 
with  strong  pepper.  At  Brunoy,  at  the  residence  of  Monsieur, 
so  gross  are  they J  the  king  regrets  having  attended ;  "  nobody 
had  any  idea  of  such  license;  two  women  in  the  auditorium 
had  to  go  out  and,  what  is  most  extraordinary,  they  had  dared 
to  invite  the  queen."  Gayety  is  a  sort  of  intoxication  which 
draws  the  cask  down  to  the  dregs,  and  when  the  wine  is  gone 
it  draws  on  the  lees.  Not  only  at  their  little  suppers,  and  with 
courtesans,  but  in  the  best  society  and  with  ladies  they  com- 
mit the  follies  of  a  bagnio.  Let  us  use  the  right  word,  they  are 
buffoons,  and  they  take  no  more  offense  at  the  word  than  at 
the  action.  "For  five  or  six  months,"  writes  a  lady  in  1782,' 
"  the  suppers  are  followed  by  a  blindman's-buff  or  by  a  draw- 
dance  and  they  end  in  general  mischievousness^  (une  polissonneric 
generate)"  Guests  are  invited  a  fortnight  in  advance.  "  On  this 
occasion  they  upset  the  tables  and  the  furniture ;  they  scattered 
twenty  caraffes  of  water  about  the  room ;  I  finally  got  away  at 
half-past  one,  wearied  out,  pelted  with  handkerchiefs,  and  leaving 
Madame  de  Clarence  hoarse,  with  her  dress  torn  to  shreds,  a 
scratch  on  her  arm,  and  a  bruise  on  her  forehead,  but  delighted 
that  she  had  given  such  a  gay  supper  and  flattered  with  the  idea 
of  its  being  the  talk  the  next  day."  This  is  the  result  of  a  crav- 
ing for  amusement.  Under  its  pressure,  as  under  the  sculptor's 
thumb,  the  mask  of  the  century  is  slowly  transformed  and  in- 
sensibly loses  its  seriousness;  the  starched  features  of  the 
courtier  change,  at  first  into  the  smiling  grimace  of  the  world- 
ling, and  then,  the  smile  fading  away  on  the  lips,  we  behold 
the  shameless  leer  of  the  reprobate.3 

1  Mme.  d'Oberkirk,  II.  82.  On  the  tone  of  the  best  society  see  "  Correspondance" 
by  Meira,  I.  20,  III.  68,  and  Bezenval  (Ed.  Barriere)  387  and  349. 

8  Mme.  de  Genlis,  "  Adele  et  Thdodore,"  II.  362. 

8  George  Sand,  I.  85.  "  At  my  grandmother's  I  have  found  boxes  full  of  couplets, 
madrigals  and  biting  satires.  I  burned  some  of  them  so  obscene  that  I  would  not 
dare  read  them  through,  and  these  written  by  abbes  I  had  known  in  my  infancy  and 
by  a  marquis  of  the  best  blood."  Among'other  examples,  toned  down,  the  songs  on 
the  Bird  and  the  Shepherdess  may  be  read  in  "  Correspondance,"  by  Metra. 


CHAPTER  III. 

DISADVANTAGES  OF  THIS  DRAWING-ROOM  LIFE. — I.  Its  barrenness  an<* 
artificiality. — Return  to  nature  and  sentiment. — II.  Its  impressionability  th< 
final  trait  which  completes  the  physiognomy  of  the  century. — Date  of  its 
advent. — Its  symptoms  in  art  and  in  literature. — Its  dominion  in  private. — 
Its  affectations. — Its  sincerity. — Its  delicacy. — III.  The  failings  of  character 
thus  formed. — Adapted  to  one  situation  but  not  to  a  contrary  situation. — 
Defects  of  intelligence. — Defects  of  disposition. — Such  a  character  is  dis- 
armed by  good-breeding. 

I. 

MERE  pleasure,  in  the  long  run,  ceases  to  gratify,  and  however 
agreeable  this  drawing-room  life  may  be,  it  ends  in  a  certain 
hollowness.  Something  is  lacking  without  any  one  being  able  to 
say  precisely  what  that  something  is ;  the  soul  becomes  restless, 
and  slowly,  aided  by  authors  and  artists,  it  sets  about  investigat- 
ing the  cause  of  its  uneasiness  and  the  object  of  its  secret  long- 
ings. Barrenness  and  artificiality  are  the  two  traits  of  this 
society,  the  more  marked  because  it  is  more  complete,  and, 
in  this  one,  pushed  to  extreme,  because  it  has  attained  to  supreme 
refinement.  In  the  first  place  naturalness  is  excluded  from  it ; 
everything  is  arranged  and  adjusted, — decoration,  dress,  attitude, 
tone  of  voice,  words,  ideas  and  even  sentiments.  "A  genuine  sen- 
timent is  so  rare,"  said  M.  de  V , "  that,  when  I  leave  Versailles, 

I  sometimes  stand  still  in  the  street  to  see  a  dog  gnaw  a  bone." ! 
Man,  in  abandoning  himself  wholly  to  society,  had  withheld  no 
portion  of  his  personality  for  himself,  while  decorum,  clinging  to 
him  like  so  much  ivy,  had  abstracted  from  him  the  substance 
of  his  being  and  subverted  every  principle  of  activity.  "  There 
was  then,"  says  one  who  was  educated  in  this  style,2  "a  certain 
way  of  walking,  of  sitting  down,  of  saluting,  of  picking  up  a 
glove,  of  holding  a  fork,  of  tendering  any  article,  in  fine,  a  com 

1  ctiampfort,  no. 

1  George  Sand,  V.  59.  "  I  was  rebuked  for  everything;  I  never  made  a  movement  whick 
wasikot  criticized." 

14 


156  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  n. 

plete  mimicry,  which  children  had  to  be  taught  at  a  very  early 
age  in  order  that  habit  might  become  a  second  nature,  and  this 
conventionality  formed  so  important  an  item  in  the  life  of  men 
and  women  in  aristocratic  circles  that  the  actors  of  the  present 
day,  with  all  their  study,  are  scarcely  able  to  give  us  an  idea 
of  it."  Not  only  was  the  outward  factitious  but,  again,  the  in 
ward;  there  was  a  certain  prescribed  mode  of  feeling  and  of 
thinking,  of  living  and  of  dying.  It  was  impossible  to  address  a 
man  without  placing  oneself  at  his  orders,  or  a  woman  without 
casting  oneself  at  her  feet.  Fashion,  le  bon  ton,  regulated  every 
important  or  petty  proceeding,  the  manner  of  making  a  declara- 
tion to  a  woman  and  of  breaking  an  engagement,  of  entering 
upon  and  managing  a  duel,  of  treating  an  equal,  an  inferior  and 
a  superior.  If  any  one  failed  in  the  slightest  degree  to  conform 
to  this  code  of  universal  custom,  he  is  called  "a  specimen."  A 
man  of  heart  or  of  talent,  D'Argenson,  for  example,  bore  a 
surname  of  "simpleton,"  because  his  originality  transcended  the 
conventional  standard.  "  That  has  no  name,  there  is  nothing  lik-. 
it ! "  embodies  the  strongest  censure.  In  conduct  as  in  literature 
whatever  departs  from  a  certain  type  is  rejected.  The  quantity 
of  authorized  actions  is  as  great  as  the  number  of  authorized 
words.  The  same  super-refined  taste  impoverishes  the  initiatory 
act  as  well  as  the  initiatory  expression,  people  acting  as  they 
write,  according  to  acquired  formulas  and  within  a  circumscribed 
circle.  Under  no  consideration  can  the  eccentric,  the  unforeseen, 
the  spontaneous,  vivid  inspiration  be  accepted.  Among  twenty 
instances  I  select  the  least  striking  since  it  merely  relates  to  a 
simple  gesture,  and  is  a  measure  of  other  things.  Mademoiselle 

de obtains,  through  family  influence,  a  pension  for  Marcel, 

a  famous  dancing-master,  and  runs  off,  delighted,  to  his  domicile 
to  convey  him  the  patent.  Marcel  receives  it  and  at  once  flings 
it  on  the  floor:  "Mademoiselle,  did  I  teach  you  to  offer  an  object 
;n  that  manner  ?  Pick  up  that  paper  and  hand  it  to  me  as  you 
ought  to."  She  picks  up  the  patent  and  presents  it  to  him  with 
all  suitable  grace.  "That's  very  well,  Mademoiselle,  I  ac- 
cept it  although  your  elbow  was  not  quite  sufficiently  rounded, 
and  I  thank  you."  l  So  many  graces  end  in  becoming  weari- 

1  "Paris,  Versailles  et  les  provinces,"  I.  162.  "The  king  of  Sweden  is  here;  he  wean 
rosettes  on  his  breeches;  all  is  over;  he  is  ridiculous,  and  a  provincial  kinj."  (  "  L  Goutr- 
ernement  de  Normandie,"  by  Hippeau,  IV.  237,  July  4, 1784.) 


CHAP.  m.  HABITS  AND  CHARACTERS.  159 

Borne;  after  having  eaten  rich  food  for  years,  a  little  milk  and 
dry  bread  becomes  welcome. 

Among  all  these  social  flavorings  one  is  especially  abused, 
and  which,  unremittingly  employed,  communicates  to  all  dishes 
its  frigid  or  piquant  savor,  I  mean  insincerity  (badinage).  So- 
ciety does  not  tolerate  passion,  and  in  this  it  exercises  its 
right.  One  does  not  enter  company  to  be  either  vehement  or 
sombre;  a  strained  air  or  one  of  concentration  would  appear  incon- 
gruous. The  mistress  of  a  house  is  always  right  in  reminding  a 
man  that  his  emotional  constraint  brings  on  silence.  "  Monsieur 
Such-a-one,  you  are  not  amiable  to-day."  To  be  always  amiable 
is,  accordingly,  an  obligation,  and,  through  this  training,  a  sensi- 
bility that  is  diffused  through  innumerable  little  channels  never 
produces  a  broad  current.  "  One  has  a  hundred  friends,  and  out 
of  these  hundred  friends  two  or  three  may  have  some  chagrin 
every  day;  but  one  could  not  award  them  sympathy  for  any 
length  of  time  as,  in  that  event,  one  would  be  wanting  in  consid- 
eration for  the  remaining  eighty-seven ; "  l  one  might  sigh  for  an 
instant  with  some  one  of  the  eighty-seven,  and  that  would  be  all. 
Madame  du  Deffant,  having  lost  her  oldest  friend,  the  President 
Renault,  that  very  day  goes  to  sup  in  a  large  assemblage: 
"Alas,"  she  exclaimed,  "he  died  at  six  o'clock  this  evening; 
otherwise  you  would  not  see  me  here."  Under  this  constant  re- 
gime of  distractions  and  diversions  there  are  no  longer  any  pro- 
found sentiments;  we  have  nothing  but  an  epidermic  exterior 
love  itself  is  reduced  to  "the  exchange  of  two  phantasies." 
And,  as  one  always  falls  on  the  side  to  which  one  inclines,  levity 
becomes  deliberate  and  a  matter  of  elegance.2  Indifference  of 
the  heart  is  in  fashion ;  one  would  be  ashamed  to  show  any  gen-  _„ 
uine  emotion.  One  takes  pride  in  playing  with  love,  in  treating 
woman  as  a  mechanical  puppet,  in  touching  one  inward  spring, 
an4  then  another,  to  force  out,  at  will,  her  anger  or  her  pity. 
Whatever  she  may  do,  there  is  no  deviation  from  the  most  insult- 
ing politeness;  the  very  exaggeration  of  false  respect  which  is 
lavished  on  her  is  a  mockery  by  which  indifference  for  her  is  fully 

1  Stendhal,  "  Rome,  Naples  and  Florence,"  379.     Stated  by  an  English  lord. 

•Marivaux,  "Le  Petit-Maitre  corrig6."  Cresset,  "Le  M6chant."  Cr£billon fits,  "La 
Null  et  le  Moment,"  (especially  the  scene  between  Clitandre  and  Lucinde).  Colle,  "  La 
Verit6  dans  le  Vin,"  (the  part  of  the  abb£  with  the  prfsidente).  De  Bezenval,  79.  (Th« 
Comte  d«  Frise  and  Mme.  de  Blot).  "  Vie  prive'e  du  Marechal  de  Richelieu,"  (scenes  wiri 
Mme.  Michelin).  De  Goncourt,  167  to  174. 


160  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  n 

manifested.  But  they  go  still  further,  and  in  souls  naturally  un- 
feeling, gallantry  turns  into  wickedness.  Through  ennui  and  the 
demand  for  excitement,  through  vanity,  and  as  a  proof  of  dexterity, 
delight  is  found  in  tormenting,  in  exciting  tears,  in  dishonoring  and 
in  killing  women  by  slow  torture.  At  last,  as  self-love  is  a  bottom- 
less pit,  there  is  no  species  of  blackness  of  which  these  polished  exe- 
cutioners are  not  capable ;  the  personages  of  Laclos  are  derived 
from  these  originals.1  Monsters  of  this  kind  are,  undoubtedly, 
rare;  but  there  is  no  need  of  reverting  to  them  to  ascertain  how 
much  egotism  is  harbored  in  the  gallantry  of  society.  The  women 
who  erected  it  into  an  obligation  are  the  first  to  realize  its  deceptive- 
ness,  and,  amidst  so  much  homage  without  heat,  to  pine  for  the 
communicative  warmth  of  a  powerful  sentiment.  The  character 
of  the  century  obtains  its  last  trait  when  "the  man  of  feeling" 
comes  on  the  stage. 

II. 

It  is  not  that  the  groundwork  of  habits  becomes  different,  for 
these  remain  equally  worldly  and  dissipated  up  to  the  last.  But 
fashion  authorizes  a  new  affectation,  consisting  of  effusions,  rev- 
eries, and  sensibilities  as  yet  unknown.  The  point  is  to  return 
to  nature,  to  admire  the  country,  to  delight  in  the  simplicity  of 
rustic  manners,  to  be  interested  in  village  people,  to  be  humane, 
to  have  a  heart,  to  find  pleasure  in  the  sweetness  and  tenderness 
of  natural  affections,  to  be  a  husband  and  a  father,  and  still  more, 
to  possess  a  soul,  virtues,  and  religious  emotions,  to  believe  in  Prov- 
idence and  immortality,  to  be  capable  of  enthusiasm.  One  wants 
to  be  all  this,  or  at  least  show  an  inclination  that  way.  In  any 
event,  if  the  desire  does  exist  it  is  on  the  implied  condition,  that 
one  shall  not  be  too  much  disturbed  in  his  ordinary  pursuits  and 
that  the  sensations  belonging  to  the  new  order  of  life  shall  in 
no  respect  interfere  with  the  enjoyments  of  the  old  one.  Ac- 
cordingly the  exaltation  which  arises  is  little  more  than  cerebral  fer- 
mentation, and  the  idyl  is  to  be  almost  entirely  performed  in  the 
drawing-room.  Behold,  then-,  literature,  the  drama,  painting  and  all 
the  arts  pursuing  the  same  sentimental  road  to  supply  heated 
imaginations  with  factitious  nourishment.2  Rousseau,  in  labored 

1  Laclos,  "Les  Liaisons  Dangereuses."  Mine,  de  Merteuil  was  copied  after  a  Marquise  de 
Grenoble.  Remark  the  difference  between  Lovelace  and  Valmont,  one  being  stimulated  bt 
pride  and  the  other  by  vanity. 

'  The  growth  of  sensibility  is  indicated  by  the  following  dates :     Rousseau,  "  Sur  1'influenc* 


CHAP.  in.  HABITS  AND  CHARACTERS.  161 

periods,  preaches  the  charms  of  an  uncivilized  existence,  while 
other  masters,  between  two  madrigals,  fancy  the  delight  of  sleep       / 
ing  naked  in  the  primeval  forest.     The  lovers  in  "  La  Nouvella      < 


Heloise  "  interchange  passages  of  fine  style  through  four  volumes, 
"whereupon  a  person  "not  merely  methodical  but  prudent,"  the 
Comtesse  de  Blot,  exclaims,  at  a  social  gathering  at  the  Duchesse 
de  Chartres's,  "a  woman  truly  sensitive,  unless  of  extraordinary 
virtue,  could  refuse  nothing  to  the  passion  of  Rousseau." 1     Peo- 
ple collect  in  a  dense  crowd  in  the  Exhibition  around  "  L'Accorde'e 
de  Village,"  "  La  Cruche  Cassee,"  and  the  "  Retour  de  nourrice," 
with  other  rural  and  domestic  idyls  by  Greuze;  the  voluptuous 
element,    the  tempting  undercurrent   of  sensuality  made    per-  > 
ceptible  in  the  fragile  simplicity  of  his  artless  maidens,  is  a  dainty 
bit  for  the  libertine  tastes  which  are  kept  alive  beneath  moral  as- .' 
pirations.2      After    these,    Ducis,   Thomas,    Pamy,   Colardeau,j 
Boucher,  Delille,  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre,  Marmontel,  Florian, 
the  mass  of  orators,  authors  and  politicians,  the  misanthrope 
Champfort,  the  logician  La  Harpe,  the  minister  Necker,  the  versi 
fiers  and  the  imitators  of  Gessner  and  Young,  the  Berquins,  the 
Bitaube"s,  nicely  combed  and  bedizened,  holding  embroidered 
handkerchiefs  to  wipe  away  tears,  are  to  marshal  forth  the  univer- 
sal eclogue  down  to  the  acme  of  the  Revolution.     Marmontel's 
"  Moral  TaJes^appear  in  the  columns  of  the  "Mercure"  for  1791  j 
and~i~792,3  while  the  number  following  the  massacres  of  Septem-  j 
ber  opens  with  verses  "to  the  manes  of  my  canary-bird." 

Consequently,  in  all  the  details  of  private  life,  sensibility  dis- 
plays its  magniloquence.  A  small  temple  to  Friendship  is  erected 
in  a  park.  A  little  altar  to  Benevolence  is  set  up  in  a  private 
closet.  Dresses  a  la  Jean-  Jacques-Rousseau  are  worn  "  analogous 
to  the  principles  of  that  author."  Head-dresses  are  selected  with 
"  puffs  au  sentiment "  in  which  one  may  place  the  portrait  of  one's 
daughter,  mother,  canary  or  dog,  the  whole  "  garnished  with  the 

des  lettres  et  des  arts,"  1749 ;  "  Sur  I'inegalite',"  1 753 ;  "  Nouvelle  Heloise,"  1759.  Greuze,  "  Le 
Pere  de  Famille  lisant  la  Bible,"  1755;  "L'Accordee  de  Village,"  1761.  Diderot.  "T«  fil» 
naturel,"  1757;  "Le  Pere  de  Famille,"  1758. 

1  Mme.  de  Genlis,  "  Memoires,"  chap.  xvii.     George  Sand,  I.  72.     The  young  Mme.  do 
Francueil,  on  seeing  F  ousseau  for  the  first  time,  burst  into  tears. 

*  This  point  has  been  brought  out  with  as  much  skill  as  accuracy  by  Messieurs  de  Gon- 
court  in  "L'Art  au  dix-huitieme  siecle,"  I.  433-438. 

*  The  number  for  August,  1792,  contains  "Les  Rivaux  d'eux-mCmcs."'    About  the  sama 
time  other  pieces  are  inserted  in  the  "  Mercure,"  such  as  "  The  federal  union  of  Hymen  and 
Cupid,"  "Lejaloux  '  "A  Pastoral  Romance,"  "  Ode  Anacr6ontique  a  Mile.  S.  D.  .  .  .''  etc. 

H* 


162  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  n 

hair  of  one's  father  or  int  mate  friend." 1  People  keep  intimate 
friends  for  whom  "they  experience  something  so  warm  and  so 
tender  that  it  nearly  amounts  to  a  passion  "  and  whom  they  cannot 
go  three  hours  a  day  without  seeing.  "  Every  time  female  com- 
panions interchange  tender  ideas  the  voice  suddenly  changes  into 
a  pure  and  languishing  tone,  each  fondly  regarding  the  other  with 
approaching  heads  and  frequently  embracing,"  and  suppressing  i 
yawn  a  quarter  of  an  hour  after,  with  a  nap  in  concert,  because 
they  have  no  more  to  say.  Enthusiasm  becomes  an  obligation. 
On  the  revival  of  "  Le  pere  de  famille  "  there  are  as  many  hand- 
kerchiefs counted  as  spectators,  and  ladies  faint  away.  "  It  is 
customary,  especially  for  young  women,  to  be  excited,  to  turn 
pale,  to  melt  into  tears  and,  generally,  to  be  seriously  affected  on 
encountering  M.  de  Voltaire;  they  rush  into  his  arms,  stammer  and 
weep,  their  agitation  resembling  that  of  the  most  passionate  love."1 
When  a  society-author  reads  his  work  in  a  drawing-room,  fashion 
requires  that  the  company  should  utter  exclamations  and  sob,  and 
that  some  pretty  fainting  subject  should  be  unlaced.  Mme.  de  Gen- 
lis,  who  laughs  at  these  affectations,  is  no  less  affected  than  the  rest. 
Suddenly  some  one  in  the  company  is  heard  to  say  to  the  young  or- 
phan whom  she  is  exhibiting :  "  Pamela  show  us  Heloise,"  where- 
upon Pamela,  loosening  her  hair,  falls  on  her  knees  and  turns  her 
eyes  up  to  heaven  with  an  air  of  inspiration,  to  the  great  applause 
of  the  assembly.3  Sensibility  becomes  an  institution.  The  same 
Madame  de  Genlis  founds  an  order  of  Perseverance  which  soon 
includes  "  as  many  as  ninety  chevaliers  in  the  very  best  society." 
To  become  a  member  it  is  necessary  to  solve  some  riddle,  to  an- 
swer a  moral  question  and  pronounce  a  discourse  on  virtue. 
Every  lady  or  chevalier  who  discovers  and  publishes  "  three  well- 
verified  virtuous  actions  "  obtains  a  gold  medal.  Each  chevaliei 
has  his  "  brother  in  arms,"  each  lady  has  her  bosom  friend  and 
each  member  has  a  device  and  each  device,  framed  in  a  little  pict- 

1  Mme.  de  Genlis,  "Adele  et  Theodore,"  I.  312.  De  Goncourt,  "La  Femme  au  dix- 
huitieme  siecle,"  318.  Mme.  d'Oberkirk,  I.  56.  Description  of  the  puff  ait  sentiment  of 
tile  Duchesse  de  Chartres  (de  Goncourt,  311) :  "In  the  background  is  a  woman  seated  in  a 
chair  and  holding  an  infant,  which  represents  the  Due  de  Valots  and  his  nurse.  On  the  right 
is  a  paroquet  pecking  at  a  cherry,  and  on  the  left  a  little  negro,  the  duchess's  two  pets :  the 
whole  is  intermingled  with  locks  of  hair  of  all  the  relations  of  Mme.  de  Chartres,  the  hair  of 
her  husband,  father  and  grandfather." 

*  Mme.  de  Genlis,  "Les  Dangers  du  Monde,"  I.  scene  vii. ;  II.  scene  iv. ;  "  Adele  et  Th4 
»dore,"  I.  312;  "Souvenirs  Fe'licie,"  199;  Bachaumont,  IV.,  320. 

1  Mme.  de  Larochejacquelein,  "  M&noires." 


CHAP.  in.  HABITS  AND  CHARACTERS.  163 

ure,  figures  in  the  "  Temple  of  Honor,"  a  sort  of  tent  gallantly 
decorated,  and  which  M.  de  Lauzun  causes  to  be  erected  in  the 
middle  of  a  garden.1  The  sentimental  parade  is  complete, 
a  drawing-room  masquerade  being  visible  even  in  this  chivalric 
revival. 

The  froth  of  enthusiasm  and  of  fine  words  nevertheless  leaves 
in  the  heart  a  residuum  of  active  benevolence,  trustfulness,  and 
e-en  happiness  or,  at  least,  expansiveness  and  freedom.  Wives, 
for  the  first  time,  are  seen  accompanying  their  husbands  into  gar- 
rison ;  mothers  desire  to  nurse  their  infants,  and  fathers  begin  to 
interest  themselves  in  the  education  of  their  children.  Simplic- 
ity again  forms  an  element  of  manners.  Hair-powder  is  no 
longer  put  on  little  boys'  heads ;  many  of  the  seigniors  abandon 
laces,  embroideries,  red  heels  and  the  sword,  except  when  in 
full  dress.  People  appear  in  the  streets  "  dressed  a  la  Franklin,  in 
coarse  cloth,  with  a  knotty  cane  and  thick  shoes." 2  The  taste  no 
longer  runs  on  cascades,  statues  and  stiff  and  pompous  decora- 
tions; the  preference  is  for  the  English  garden.  The  queen  ar- 
ranges a  village  for  herself  at  the  Trianon,  where,  "dressed  in  a 
frock  of  white  cambric  muslin  and  a  gauze  neck-handkerchief, 
and  with  a  straw  hat,"  she  fishes  in  the  lake  and  sees  her  cows 
milked.  Etiquette  falls  away  like  the  paint  scaling  off  from  the 
skin,  disclosing  the  bright  hue  of  natural  emotions.  Madame 
Adelaide  takes  up  a  violin  and  replaces  an  absent  musician  to  let 
the  peasant  girls  dance.3  The  Duchesse  de  Bourbon  goes  out 
early  in  the  morning  incognito  to  bestow  alms,  and  "  to  see  the 
poor  in  their  garrets."  The  Dauphine  jumps  out  of  her  carriage 
to  assist  a  wounded  postilion,  a  peasant  knocked  down  by  a 
stag.  The  king  and  the  Comte  d'Artois  help  a  carter  disen- 
gage his  cart  from  the  mud.  People  no  longer  think  about  self- 
constraint,  and  self-adjustment,  and  of  keeping  up  their  dignity 
under  all  circumstances,  and  of  subjecting  the  weaknesses  of  hu- 
man nature  to  the  exigencies  of  rank.  On  the  demise  of  the  first 
Dauphin,4  whilst  the  people  in  the  room  place  themselves  before 

1  Mme.  de  Genlis,  "  Memoires,"  chap.  xx.     De  Lauzun,  270. 

*Mme.  d'Oberkirk,  II.  35  (1783-1784).  Mme.  Campan,  III.  371.  Mercier,  "  Tableau  de 
Paris,"  passim. 

•"Correspondance"  by  Metra  (XVII.  55,  1784).  Mme.  d'Oberkirk,  II.  234.  "Mark 
Antoinette,"  by  d'Arneth  and  Geffroy,  II.  63,  29. 

4  "Le  Gouvernement  de  Normandie,"  by  Hippeau,  IV.  387  (Letters  of  June  4, 17^9,  try  an 
•ye- witness). 


164  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  n. 

the  king  to  prevent  him  from  entering  it,  the  queen  falls  at  his 
knees  and  he  says  to  her,  weeping,  "Ah,  my  wife,  our  dear  child 
is  dead  since  they  do  not  wish  me  to  see  him."  And  the  narra- 
tor adds  with  admiration ;  "I  always  seem  to  see  a  good  hus- 
bandman and  his  excellent  partner  a  prey  to  the  deepest  despair 
at  the  loss  of  their  beloved  child."  Tears  are  no  longer  con- 
cealed, as  it  is  a  point  of  honor  to  be  a  man.  One  becomes  hu- 
man and  familiar  with  one's  inferiors.  A  prince,  on  a  review, 
says  to  the  soldiers  on  presenting  the  princess  to  them,  "  My 
boys,  here  is  my  wife."  There  is  a  disposition  to  make  people 
happy  and  to  take  great  delight  in  their  gratitude.  To  be  kind, 
to  be  loved  is  the  object  of  the  head  of  a  government,  of  a  man 
in  place.  This  goes  so  far  that  God  is  prefigured  according  to 
this  model.  The  "harmonies  of  nature"  are  construed  into  the 
delicate  attentions  of  Providence ;  on  instituting  filial  affection  the 
Creator  "  deigned  to  choose  for  our  best  virtue  our  sweetest  pleas- 
ure." l  The  idyl  which  is  imagined  to  take  place  in  heaven,  cor- 
responds with  the  idyl  practised  on  earth.  From  the  public  up 
to  the  princes,  and  from  the  princes  down  to  the  public,  in  prose, 
in  verse,  in  compliments  at  festivities,  in  official  replies,  in  the  style 
of  royal  edicts  down  to  the  songs  of  the  market-women,  there  is 
a  constant  interchange  of  graces  and  of  sympathies.  Applause 
bursts  out  in  the  theatre  at  any  verse  containing  an  allusion  tc 
princes,  and,  a  moment  after,  at  the  speech  which  exalts  the 
merits  of  the  people,  the  princes  return  the  compliment  by  ap- 
plauding in  their  turn.2  On  all  sides,  just  as  this  society  is  van- 
ishing, a  mutual  deference,  a  spirit  of  kindliness  arises,  like  a  soft 
and  balmy  autumnal  breeze,  to  dissipate  whatever  harshness  re- 
mains of  its  aridity  and  to  mingle  with  the  radiance  of  its  last 
hours  the  perfume  of  dying  roses.  We  now  encounter  acts  and 

I  Florian,  "  Ruth." 

*  Hippeau,  IV.  86  (June  23,  1773),  on  the  representation  of  "Le  Siege  de  Calais,"  at  tht 
Comedie  Francaise,  at  the  moment  when  Mile.  Vestris  uttered  these  words : 

Le  Francais  dans  son  prince  aime  £  trouver  un  frere 

Qui,  n£  fils  del'Etat,  en  devienne  le  pere. 

"Long  and  universal  plaudits  greeted  the  actress  who  had  turned  in  the  diiection  of  the 
Dauphin."  In  another  place  these  verses  occur : 

Quelle  lecon  pour  vous,  superbes  potentats ! 

Veillez  sur  vos  sujets  dans  le  rang  le  plus  has, 

Tel,  loin  de  vos  regards,  dans  le  misere  expire 

Qul  quelque  jour  peut-etre,  eut  sauv6  votre  empire. 

••The  Dauphin  and  the  Dauphine  in  turn  applauded  the  tirade.  This  demonstration  D£  thefc 
•ensibility  was  welcomed  with  new  transports  of  affection  and  gratitude." 


CHAP.  in.  HABITS  AND  CHARACTERS.  165 

words  of  infinite  grace,  unique  of  their  kind,  like  a  lovely,  ex- 
quisite little  figure  on  old  Sevres  porcelain.  One  day,  on  the 
Comtesse  Amelie  de  BoufHers  speaking  somewhat  flippantly  of 
her  husband,  her  mother-in-law  interposes,  "You  forget  that  you 
are  speaking  of  my  son."  "True,  mamma,  I  thought  I  was  only 
speaking  of  your  son-in-law."  It  is  she  again  who,  on  playing 
"  the  boat,"  and  obliged  to  decide  between  this  beloved  mother- 
in-law  and  her  own  mother,  whom  she  scarcely  knew,  replies,  "  1 
would  save  my  mother  and  drown  with  my  mother-in-law." 1  The 
Duchesse  de  Choiseul,  the  Duchesse  de  Lauzun,  and  others  be- 
sides, are  equally  charming  miniatures.  When  the  affections  and 
the  intellect  combine  their  refinements  they  produce  masterpieces, 
and  these,  like  the  art,  the  refinements  and  the  society  which 
surrounds  them  possess  a  charm  unsurpassed  by  anything  except 
their  own  fragility. 

III. 

The  reason  is  that,  the  better  adapted  men  are  to  a  certain  sit- 
uation the  less  prepared  are  they  for  the  opposite  situation.  The 
habits  and  faculties  which  serve  them  in  the  previous  condition 
become  prejudicial  to  them  in  the  new  one.  In  acquiring  talents 
adapted  to  tranquil  times  they  lose  those  suited  to  times  of  agita- 
tion, reaching  the  extreme  of  feebleness  at  the  same  time  with 
the  extreme  of  urbanity.  The  more  polished  an  aristocracy  be- 
comes the  weaker  it  becomes,  and  when  no  longer  possessing  the 
power  to  please  it  no  longer  possesses  the  strength  to  struggle. 
And  yet,  in  this  world,  we  must  struggle  if  we  would  live.  In 
humanity  as  in  nature  empire  belongs  to  force.  Every  creature 
that  loses  the  art  and  energy  of  self-defence  becomes  so  much 
more  certainly  a  prey  according  as  its  brilliancy,  imprudence  and 
even  gentleness  deliver  it  over  in  advance  to  the  gross  appetites 
roaming  around  it.  Where  find  resistance  in  characters  formed  by 
the  habits  we  have  just  described? — To  defend  ourselves  we 
must,  first  of  all,  look  carefully  around  us,  see  and  foresee,  and 
provide  for  danger.  How  could  they  do  this  living  as  they  did  ? 
Their  circle  is  too  narrow  and  too  carefully  enclosed.  Confined 
to  their  castles  and  mansions  they  see  only  those  of  their  own 
sphere,  they  hear  only  the  echo  of  their  own  ideas,  they  imagine 
that  there  is  nothing  beyond;  the  public  seems  to  consist  of 
two  hundred  persons.  Moreover,  disagreeable  truths  are  not  ad 

1  Madame  He  <5enlis,  "Souvenirs  de  FeTlde,"  76,  161. 


166  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  a 

mitted  into  a  drawing-room,  especially  when  of  personal  import 
an  idle  fancy  there  becoming  a  dogma  because  it  becomes 
conventional.  Here,  accordingly,  we  find  those  who,  already  de- 
ceived by  the  limitations  of  their  accustomed  horizon,  fortify 
their  delusion  still  more  by  delusions  about  their  fellow-men. 
They  comprehend  nothing  of  the  vast  world  which  envelopes 
their  little  world ;  they  are  incapable  of  entering  into  the  senti- 
ments of  a  bourgeois,  of  a  villager;  they  have  no  conception  of 
the  peasant  as  he  is  but  as  they  would  like  him  to  be.  The  idyl 
is  in  fashion  and  no  one  dares  dispute  it ;  any  other  supposi- 
tion would  be  false  because  it  would  be  disagreeable,  and,  as  the 
drawing-rooms  have  decided  that  all  will  go  well,  all  must  go  well. 
Never  was  a  delusion  more  complete  and  more  voluntary.  The 
Due  d'Orle*ans  offers  to  wager  a  hundred  louis  that  the  States- 
General  will  dissolve  without  accomplishing  anything,  not  even 
abolishing  the  lettre-de-cachet.  After  the  demolition  has  begun,  and 
yet  again  after  it  is  finished,  they  will  form  opinions  no  more  accu- 
rate. They  have  no  idea  of  social  architecture;  they  know 
nothing  about  either  its  materials,  its  proportions,  or  its  harmoni- 
ous balance;  they  have  had  no  hand  in  it,  they  have  never 
worked  at  it.  They  ignore  the  construction  of  the  old  build- 
ing1 in  which  they  occupy  the  first  story.  They  are  unable 
to  calculate  either  pressures  «r  resistances.8  They  conclude, 
finally,  that  it  is  better  to  let  the  thing  tumble  in,  and  that  the 
restoration  of  the  edifice  in  their  behalf  will  follow  its  own  course, 
and  that  they  will  return  to  their  drawing-room,  expressly  rebuilt 
ror  them,  and  freshly  gilded,  to  begin  over  again  the  pleasant 
:onversation  which  an  accident,  some  tumult  in  the  street,  had 
interrupted.3  So  clairvoyant  in  society,  they  are  dim-sighted  in 
politics.  They  see  things  in  the  artificial  glow  of  candles  ;  nat- 
ural daylight  deranges  and  dazzles  them.  The  habit  is  too 
strong,  and  of  too  ancient  date.  The  organ,  so  long  applied  to 
the  petty  details  of  refined  life,  no  longer  takes  in  the  grand 
masses  of  popular  life,  and,  suddenly  brought  to  bear  on  new 
surroundings,  its  acuteness  constitutes  its  blindness. 

1  M.  de  Montlosier,   in  the  Constituent  Assembly,   is  about  the  only  person 
familiar  with  feudal  laws. 

'  Is  "  A  competent  and  impartial  man  who  would  estimate  the  chances  of  the  success 
of  the  Revolution  would  find  that  there  are  more  against  it  than  against  the  five 
winning-  numbers  in  a  lottery;  but  this  is  possible,  and  unfortunately,  this  time, 
they  all  came  out."  (Ducde  Levis,  "  Souvenirs,"  328.) 

3  "  Corinne,"  by  Madame  de  Stael,  the  character  of  the  Comte  d'Erfeuil.    Malonet, 
"  Me'moires,'"  II.  297  (a  memorable  instance  of  golitical  stupidity). 


CHAP.  m.  HABITS  AND  CHARACTERS.  167 

Nevertheless,  they  must  act,  for  danger  is  there,  staring  them 
in  the  face.  But  it  is  danger  of  a  mean  sort,  and,  to  ward  it  off, 
their  education  affords  them  no  suitable  arms.  They  have 
learned  how  to  fence,  but  not  how  to  box.  They  are  still  the 
sons  of  those  who,  at  Fontenoy,  instead  of  taking  the  first  shot, 
courteously  doff  their  chapeaux  and,  addressing  their  English 
antagonists,  exclaim,  ' '  No,  gentlemen,  you  fire  first ! "  Slaves 
to  good-breeding,  their  movements  are  hampered.  Countless 
actions,  and  the  most  essential,  those  which  demand  daring, 
vigor  and  brutal  energy,  run  counter  to  the  deference  which  a 
well-bred  man  owes  to  others,  or,  at  least,  to  self-respect. — 
They  consider  them  not  permissible  ;  it  never  occurs  to  them 
to  profit  by  them  and,  the  more  elevated  their  position  in 
society,  the  more  are  they  fettered  by  their  rank.  On  the 
royal  family  setting  out  for  Varennes,  the  accumulated  de- 
lays which  ruin  them  are  due  to  etiquette.  Madame  de 
Touzel  insists  on  her  place  in  the  carriage  to  which  she  is  en- 
titled as  governess  of  the  Children  of  France.  The  king,  on  ar- 
riving, is  desirous  of  conferring  the  marshal's  baton  on  M.  de 
Bouille"  and  after  running  to  and  fro  to  obtain  a  baton  he  is 
obliged  to  borrow  that  of  the  Due  de  Choiseul.  The  queen  can- 
not dispense  with  a  travelling  dressing-case  and  one  has  to  be 
made  large  enough  to  contain  every  imaginable  implement  from  a 
warming-pan  to  a  silver  porridge-dish,  with  other  dishes  besides ; 
and,  as  if  there  were  no  shifts  to  be  had  in  Brussels,  there  had  to  be 
a  complete  outfit  in  this  line  for  herself  and  her  children.1  A  nar- 
row fidelity,  humanity  in  its  own  despite  (quandmeme),  the  frivol- 
ity of  the  petty  literary  spirit,  graceful  urbanity,  profound  igno- 
rance,2 the  nullity  or  rigidity  of  the  understanding  and  of  the  will 
are  still  greater  with  the  princes  than  with  the  nobles.  All  are  im- 
potent against  the  wild  and  roaring  outbreak.  They  have  not  the 
physical  superiority  which  masters  it,  the  vulgar  charlatanism 
which  conjures  it,  the  tricks  of  a  Scapin  which  thwart  it,  the  bull's 
audacity,  the  legerdemain  of  the  juggler,  the  stentorian  lungs, 
in  short,  the  resources  of  the  energetic  temperament  and  of  animal 
cunning  alone  capable  of  diverting  the  rage  of  the  unchained 

1  Mme.  Campan,  II.  140,  313.    Due  de  Choiseul,  "  Me'moires." 
8  Journal  of  Dumontd'Urville,  commander  of  the  vessel  which  transported  Charles 
X.  into  exile  in  1830.    See  note  4  at  the  end  of  the  volume. 


ib8  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  H 

brute.  To  secure  wrestlers  of  this  stamp  they  seek  for  three 
or  four  men  of  a  different  race  and  education,  men  having  suf- 
fered and  roamed  about,  a  brutal  plebeian  like  the  abbe  Maury, 
a  colossal  and  begrimed  satyr  like  Mirabeau,  a  bold  and  prompt 
adventurer  like  that  Dumouriez  who,  at  Cherbourg,  when, 
through  the  feebleness  of  the  Due  de  Beuvron,  the  stores  of  grain 
were  given  up  and  the  riot  began,  hooted  at  and  nearly  cut  to 
pieces,  suddenly  sees  the  keys  of  the  storehouse  in  the  hands  of 
a  Dutch  sailor,  and,  yelling  to  the  mob  that  it  was  betrayed  through 
'a  foreigner  having  got  hold  of  the  keys,  himself  jumps  down 
from  the  railing,  seizes  the  keys  and  hands  them  to  the  officer 
of  the  guard  saying  to  the  people,  "I  am  your  father, — I 
am  responsible  for  the  storehouses ! " *  To  take  sides  with  bullies 
and  market-women,  to  seize  a  man  by  the  collar  in  a  club,  to 
make  stump-speeches  at  every  street-corner,  to  bark  louder 
than  the  barkers,  to  use  one's  fists  or  a  cudgel,  the  same  as  young 
gallants  of  later  days,  against  lunatics  and  brutes  who  are  in- 
capable of  using  other  arguments  and  who  must  be  answered 
in  the  same  vein,  to  mount  guard  over  the  Assembly,  to  act  as 
volunteer  constable,  to  spare  neither  one's  own  hide  nor  that 
of  others,  to  be  one  of  the  people  to  face  the  people,  are  simple 
and  effectual  proceedings,  but  so  vulgar  as  to  appear  to  them 
disgusting.  The  idea  of  resorting  to  such  means  never  enters 
their  head ;  they  neither  know  how,  nor  do  they  care  to  make 
use  of  their  hands  in  such  business.8  They  are  skilled  only  in 
the  duel  and,  almost  immediately,  the  brutality  of  opinion  is  to 
bar  the  road  to  polite  encounters  with  open  violence.  Against 
the  popular  bull,  their  arms  consist  of  drawing-room  shafts,  epi- 
grams, witticisms,  songs,  parodies  and  other  pricks  with  a  pin.3 
Depth  as  well  as  resources  are  both  lacking  in  this  character; 
through  over-refinement,  it  has  become  etiolated,  and  nature, 
impoverished  by  culture,  is  incapable  of  effecting  the  trans- 

'    l  Duinouriez,  "  Memoires,"  III.  chap.  iii.  (July  21,  1789). 

*  "All  these  fine  ladies  and  gentlemen  who  knew  so  well  how  to  bow  and  courtesy  and  walk 
•ver  a  carpet,  could  not  take  three  steps  on  God's  earth  without  getting  dreadfully  fatigued. 
They  could  not  even  open  or  shut  a  door;  they  had  not  even  strength  enough  to  lift  a  log  to 
put  it  on  the  fire ;  they  had  to  call  a  servant  to  draw  up  a  chair  for  them ;  they  could  not 
come  in  or  go  out  by  themselves.     What  could  they  have  done  with  their  graces,  without 
their  valets  to  supply  the  place  of  hands  and  feet?  "     (George  Sand,  V.  6u) 

*  When  Madame  de  F had  expressed  a  clever  thing  she  felt  quite  proud  of  it     M 

remarked  that  on  uttering  something  clever  about  an  emetic  she  was  quite  surprised  that  the 
was  not  purged.     Champfort,  107. 


CHAP.  in.  HABITS  AND  CHARACTERS.  169 

formations  which  renew  and  maintain  life.  An  all-power- 
ful education  has  repressed,  mollified,  enfeebled  instinct  itself. 
About  to  die  they  experience  none  of  the  reactions  of  blood 
and  rage,  the  universal  and  sudden  restoration  of  the  forces, 
the  murderous  spasm,  the  blind  irresistible  need  of  striking  those 
who  strike  them.  If  a  gentleman  is  arrested  in  his  own  house  by 
a  Jacobin  we  never  find  him  splitting  his  head  open.1  They 
allow  themselves  to  be  taken,  going  quietly  to  prison ;  to  make 
an  uproar  would  be  bad  taste ;  it  is  necessary,  above  all  things,  to 
remain  what  they  are,  well-bred  people  of  society.  In  prison 
both  men  and  women  dress  themselves  with  great  care,  pay  each 
other  visits  and  keep  up  a  drawing-room ;  it  may  be  at  the  end 
of  a  corridor  in  the  light  of  three  or  four  candles ;  but  here  they 
chat  and  joke,  compose  madrigals,  sing  songs  and  pride  them- 
selves on  being  as  gallant,  as  gay  and  as  gracious  as  ever :  need 
people  be  morose  and  ill-behaved  because  accident  has  con- 
signed them  to  a  poor  inn  ?  They  preserve  their  dignity  and 
their  smile  before  their  judges  and  on  the  cart ;  the  women,  es- 
pecially, mount  the  scaffold  with  the  ease  and  serenity  characteris- 
tic of  an  evening  entertainment.  It  is  the  supreme  characteristic  of 
good-breeding,  erected  into  an  unique  duty,  and  become  to  this 
aristocracy  a  second  nature,  which  is  found  in  its  virtues  as  well 
as  in  its  vices,  in  its  faculties  as  well  as  in  its  impotencies,  in  its 
prosperity  as  at  its  fall,  and  which  adorns  it  even  in  the  death 
to  which  it  conducts 

1  The  following  is  an  example  of  what  armed  resistan:e  can  accomplish  for  a  man  in  his 
own  house.  "  A  gentleman  of  Marseilles,  proscribed  anc  living  in  his  country  domicile,  has 
provided  himself  with  gim,  pistols  and  sabre  and  never  goes  out  without  this  armament,  de 
daring  that  he  will  not  be  taken  alive.  Nobody  has  dared  to  execute  the  order  of  arrest" 
(Anne  Plumptre,  "A  Residence  of  three  years  in  France."  1803-1805,  H.  115. 


BOOK   THIRD. 

anti  tfje  Boctn'n*. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  COMPOSITION  OF  THE  REVOLUTIONARY  SPIRIT. — Scientific  acquisi- 
tions its  first  element. — I.  The  accumulation  and  progress  of  discoveries  in 
science  and  in  nature. — They  serve  as  a  starting-point  for  the  new  philoso- 
phers.— II.  Change  of  the  point  of  view  in  the  science  of  man. — It  is  de- 
tached from  theology  and  is  united  with  the  natural  sciences. — III.  Tht 
transformations  of  history. — Voltaire. — Criticism  and  conceptions  of  unity. 
— Montesquieu. — An  outline  of  social  laws. — IV.  The  transformation  of 
psychology. — Condillac. — The  theory  of  sensation  and  of  signs.— V.  The 
analytical  method. — Its  principle. — The  conditions  requisite  to  make  ii 
productive. — These  conditions  wanting  or  inadequate  in  the  i8th  century. 
— The  truth  and  survival  of  the  principle. 

ON  seeing  a  man  with  a  somewhat  feeble  constitution,  but  healthy 
in  appearance  and  of  steady  habits,  greedily  swallow  some 
new  kind  of  cordial  and  then  suddenly  fall  to  the  ground,  foarn 
at  th3  mouth,  act  deliriously  and  writhe  in  convulsions,  we  at  once 
surmise  that  this  agreeable  beverage  contained  some  dangerous 
substance ;  but  a  delicate  analysis  is  necessary  to  detect  and  de- 
compose the  poison.  The  philosophy  of  the  eighteenth  century 
contained  poison,  and  of  a  kind  as  potent  as  it  was  peculiar ;  for, 
not  only  is  it  a  long  historic  elaboration,  the  final  and  condensed 
essence  of  the  tendency  of  the  thought  of  the  century,  but  again, 
its  two  principal  ingredients  have  this  peculiarity  that,  separate, 
they  are  salutary  and  in  combination  they  form  a  venomous  com 
pound. 

I. 

The  first  is  scientific  discovery,  admirable  on  all  sides,  and 
jenefirent  in  its  nature ;  it  is  made  up  of  masses  of  facts  slowly 


CHAP.  i.  THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  DOCTRINE.  171 

accumulated  and  then  summarily  presented  or  in  rapid  succession. 
For  the  first  time  in  history  the  sciences  expand  and  affirm 
each  other  to  the  extent  of  providing,  not,  as  formerly,  under 
Galileo  and  Descartes,  constructive  fragments,  or  a  provisional 
scaffolding,  but  a  definite  and  demonstrated  system  of  the  uni- 
verse, that  of  Newton.1  Around  this  capital  fact,  almost  all  the 
discoveries  of  the  century,  either  as  complementary  or  as  pro- 
ongations,  range  themselves.  In  pure  mathematics  we  have  the 
Infinitesimal  Calculus  discovered  simultaneously  by  Leibnitz  and 
Newton,  mechanics  reduced  by  d'Alembert  to  a  single  theorem, 
and  that  superb  collection  of  theories  which,  elaborated  by  the 
Bernouillis,  Euler,  Clairaut,  d'Alembert,  Taylor  and  Maclaurin,  is 
finally  completed  at  the  end  of  the  century  by  Monge,  Lagrange, 
and  Laplace.2  In  astronomy,  the  series  of  calculations  and 
observations  which,  from  Newton  to  Laplace,  transforms  science 
into  a  problem  of  mechanics,  explains  and  predicts  the  movements 
of  the  planets  and  of  their  satellites,  indicating  the  origin  and 
formation  of  our  solar  system,  and,  extending  beyond  this,  through 
the  discoveries  of  Herschel,  affording  an  insight  into  the  distri- 
bution of  the  stellar  archipelagoes  and  of  the  grand  outlines  of 
celestial  architecture.  In  physics,  the  decomposition  of  light  and 
the  principles  of  optics  discovered  by  Newton,  the  velocity  of 
sound,  the  form  of  its  undulations,  and,  from  Sauveur  to  Chladni, 
from  Newton  to  Bernouilli  and  Lagrange,  the  experimental  laws 
and  leading  theorems  of  Acoustics,  the  primary  laws  of  the  radi- 
ation of  heat  by  Newton,  Kraft  and  Lambert,  the  theory  of 
latent  heat  by  Black,  the  proportions  of  caloric  by  Lavoisier  and 
Laplace,  the  first  true  conceptions  of  the  source  of  fire  and  heat, 
the  experiments,  laws,  and  means  by  which  Dufay,  Nollet, 
Franklin,  and  especially  Coulomb  explain,  manipulate  and,  foi 
the  first  time,  utilize  electricity.  In  Chemistry,  all  the  foundations 
of  the  science :  isolated  oxygen,  nitrogen  and  hydrogen,  the  com 
position  of  water,  the  theory  of  combustion,  chemical  nomencla 
hire,  quantitative  analysis,  the  indestructibility  of  matter,  in  short, 
ihe  discoveries  of  Scheele,  Priestley,  Cavendish  and  Stahl, 


>  "Philosophise  naturalis  principia,"  1687;  "  Optique,"  1704. 

'  See  concerning  this  development  Corate's  "  Philosophic  Positive,"  vol.  I.  At  the  begin' 
ning  of  the  eighteenth  century,  mathematical  instruments  are  carried  to  such  perfection  as  tc 
warrant  the  belief  that  all  physical  phenomena  may  be  analyzed,  light,  electricity,  sound 
crystallization,  heat,  elasticity,  cohesion  and  other  effects  of  molecular  forces.  See  "  Whew 
ell'i  History  of  the  Inductive  Sciences,"  II.,  Ill, 


172  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  in. 

crowned  by  the  definitive  theory  and  terminology  of  Lavoisier. 
In  Mineralogy,  the  goniometer,  the  constancy  of  angles  and  the 
primary  laws  of  derivation  by  Rome"  de  Lisle,  and  next  the 
discovery  of  types  and  the  mathematical  deduction  of  secondary 
forms  by  Haiiy.  In  Geology,  the  verification  and  results  of 
Newton's  theory,  the  exact  form  of  the  earth,  the  depression  of 
the  poles,  the  expansion  of  the  equator,1  the  cause  and  the  law  of 
the  tides,  the  primitive  fluidity  of  the  planet,  the  constancy  of  its 
internal  heat,  and  then,  with  Buffon,  Desmarets,  Hutton  and 
Werner,  the  aqueous  or  igneous  origin  of  rocks,  the  stratifications 
of  the  earth,  the  structure  of  beds  of  fossils,  the  prolonged  and 
repeated  submersion  of  continents,  the  slow  growth  of  animal 
and  vegetable  deposits,  the  vast  antiquity  of  life,  the  denudations, 
fractures  and  gradual  transformation  of  the  terrestrial  surface,2 
and,  finally,  the  grand  picture  in  which  Buffon  describes  in  approx- 
imative features  the  entire  history  of  our  globe,  from  the  moment 
it  formed  a  mass  of  glowing  lava  down  to  the  time  when  our 
species,  after  so  many  lost  or  surviving  species,  was  able  to 
inhabit  it. 

Upon  this  science  of  inorganic  matter  we  see  arising  at  the 
same  time  the  science  of  organic  matter.  Grew,  and  then  Vail- 
lant  had  just  demonstrated  the  sexual  system  and  described  the 
fecundation  of  plants;  Linnaeus  invents  botanic  nomenclature 
and  the  first  complete  classifications ;  the  Jussieus  discover  the  sub- 
ordination of  characteristics  and  natural  classification.  Diges- 
tion is  explained  by  Reaumur  and  Spallanzani,  respiration  by 
Lavoisier ;  Prochaska  verifies  the  mechanism  of  reflex  actions ; 
Haller  and  Spallanzani  experiment  on  and  describe  the  conditions 
and  phases  of  generation.  Scientists  penetrate  to  the  lowest 
stages  of  animal  life.  Reaumur  publishes  his  admirable  observa- 
tions on  insects  and  Lyonnet  devotes  twenty  years  to  portraying 
the  willow-caterpillar ;  Spallanzani  resuscitates  his  rotifers,  Trem- 
blay  dissects  his  fresh- water  polyps  and  Needham  reveals  his 
infusoria.  The  experimental  conception  of  life  is  deduced  from 
these  various  researches.  Buffon  already,  and  especially  Lamarck, 
in  their  great  and  incomplete  sketches,  outline  with  penetrating 
divination  the  leading  features  of  modern  physiology  and  zool- 

1  The  travels  of  La  Condamine  In  Peru  and  of  Maupertuis  in  Lapland, 
1  Buffbn,  "ThSorie  delaTerre,"  1749;  "Epoquesde  la  Nature,"  1788.     "  Carte  gtologique 
de  1'Auvergne,"  by  Desman ts,  1766. 


CHAP.  I.  THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  DOCTRINE.  173 

ogy.  Organic  molecules  everywhere  diffused  or  everywhere 
growing,  species  of  globules  constantly  in  course  of  decay  and 
restoration,  which,  through  blind  and  spontaneous  development, 
transform  themselves,  multiply  and  combine  and  which,  without 
either  foreign  direction,  or  any  preconceived  end,  solely  through 
the  effect  of  their  structure  and  surroundings,  unite  together  to  form 
those  masterly  organisms  which  we  call  plants  and  animals :  in  the 
beginning,  the  simplest  forms,  and  next  a  slow,  gradual,  complex 
and  perfected  organization;  the  organ  created  through  habits, 
necessities  and  surrounding  medium;  heredity  transmitting  ac- 
quired modifications,1  all  denoting  in  advance,  in  a  state  of  con- 
jecture and  approximation,  the  cellular  theory  of  later  physi- 
ologists 2  and  the  conclusions  of  Darwin.  In  the  picture  of  na- 
ture which  the  human  mind  portrays,  the  science  of  the  eigh- 
teenth century  has  drawn  the  general  outline,  the  perspective, 
and  the  principal  masses  so  correctly,  that,  at  the  present  day, 
all  its  grand  lines  remain  intact.  Except  a  few  partial  changes 
we  have  nothing  to  efface. 

This  vast  supply  of  positive  or  probable  facts,  either  demon- 
strated or  anticipated,  furnishes  food,  substance  and  impulse  to 
the  intellect  of  the  century.  Consider  the  leaders  of  public  opin- 
ion, the  promoters  of  the  new  philosophy :  they  are  all,  in  various 
degrees,  versed  in  the  physical  and  natural  sciences.  Not  only 
are  they  familiar  with  theories  and  authorities  but  again  they 
have  personal  knowledge  of  facts  and  objects, 
among  the  first  to  explain  the  optical  and  astronomical 
of  Newton,  and  again  to  make  calculations,  observations  and  ex- 
periments of  his  own.  He  writes  memoirs  for  the  Academy  of 
Sciences  "  On  the  Measure  of  Motive  Forces,"  and  "  On  the  Na- 
ture and  Diffusion  of  Heat."  He  handles  Reaumur's  thermome- 
ter, Newton's  prism,  and  Muschenbrock's  pyrometer.  In  his  lab- 
oratory at  Cirey  he  has  all  the  known  apparatus  for  physics  and 

1  See  a  lecture  by  M.  Lacaze-Duthier  on  Lamarck,  "Revue  Scientifique,"  III.  276-311. 

*  Buffon,  "  Histoire  Naturelle,"  II.  340 :     "  All  living  beings  contain  a  vast  quantity  of 
living  and  active  molecules.     Vegetal  and  animal  life  seem  to  be  only  the  results  of  the  actions 
of  all  the  small  lives  peculiar  to  each  of  the  active  molecules  whose  life  is  primary."    C£ 
Diderot,  "Reve  de   d'Alembert" 

*  "  Philosophic  de  Newton,"  1738,  and  "  Physique,"  by  Voltaire.     Cf.  du  Bois-Raymond, 
"  Voltaire  physiden,"  (Revue  des  Cours  Scientifique,  V.  539),  and  Saigey,  "  la  Physique  do 
Voltaire."     "Voltaire,"  writes  Lord  Brougham,  "had  he  continued  to  devote  himself  to  ex- 
perimental physics  would  undoubtedly  have  inscribed  his  name  among  those  of  the  greatesl 
discoverers  of  his  age." 

15* 


174  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  ni 

chemistry.  He  experiments  with  his  own  hand  on  the  reflection 
of  light  in  space,  on  the  increase  of  weight  in  calcined  metals,  on 
the  renewal  of  amputated  parts  of  animals,  and  in  the  spirit  of 
a  true  savant,  persistently,  with  constant  repetitions,  even  to 
the  beheading  of  forty  snails  and  slugs,  to  verify  an  asser- 
tion made  by  Spallanzani.  The  same  curiosity  and  the  same 
preparation  prevails  with  all  imbued  with  the  same  spirit.  In  the 

Aether  camp,  among  the  Cartesians,  about  to  disappear,  Fontenelle 
is  an  excellent  mathematician,  the  competent  biographer  of  all 
eminent  men  of  science,  the  official  secretary  and  true  represent- 
ative of  the  Academy  of  Sciences.  In  other  places,  in  the 
Academy  of  Bordeaux,  Montesquieu  reads  discourses  on  the 
mechanism  of  the  echo,  and  on  the  use  of  the  renal  glands ;  he 
dissects  frogs,  tests  the  effect  of  heat  and  cold  on  animated  tis- 
sues, and  publishes  observations  on  plants  and  insects.  Rous- 
seau, the  least  instructed  of  all,  attends  the  lectures  of  the"ch"em- 
ist  Rouelle,  botanizing  and  appropriating  to  himself  all  the  ele- 
ments of  human  knowledge  with  which  to  write  his  "JRmjleJ' 
Diderot  taught  mathematics  and  devoured  every  science  and  art 

1  SV6n  W 'the  technical  processes  of  all  industries.  D'Alembert 
stands  in  the  first  rank  of  mathematicians.  BufFon  translated 
Newton's  theory  of  fluxions,  and  the  Vegetable  Statics  of 
Hales ;  he  is  in  turn  a  metallurgist,  optician,  geographer,  geolo- 
gist and,  last  of  all,  an  anatomist.  Condillac,  to  explain  the  use 
of  signs  and  the  filiation  of  ideas,  writes  abridgments  of  arithmetic, 
algebra,  mechanics  and  astronomy.1  Maupertuis,  Condorcet  and 
Lalande  are  mathematicians,  physicists  and  astronomers ;  d'Hol- 
bach,  Lamettrie  and  Cabanis  are  chemists,  naturalists,  physiolo- 
gists and  physicians.  Prophets  of  a  superior  or  inferior  kind, 
masters  or  pupils,  specialists  or  simple  amateurs,  all  draw  directly 
or  indirectly  from  the  living  source  that  has  just  burst  forth. 
From  this  they  all  start  to  teach  man  what  he  is,  from  whence  he 
came,  where  he  is  going,  what  he  may  become  and  what  he 
should  be.  A  new  point  of  departure  leads  to  new  points  of 
view,  and  hence  the  idea  which  was  then  entertained  of  man  if 
to  undergo  a  complete  transformation. 


1  Sec  his  "  Logique  des  Calcuts  "  and  his  "  Art  de  Raisonn-r  " 


CHAP.  I.  THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  DOCTRINE.  175 

II. 

Suppose  a  mind  thoroughly  imbued  with  these  new  truths; 
place  the  spectator  on  the  orbit  of  Saturn,  and  let  him  observe.1 
Amidst  this  vast  and  overwhelming  space  and  in  these  boundless 
solar  archipelagoes,  how  small  is  our  own  sphere,  and  the  earth, 
what  a  grain  of  sand !  What  multitudes  of  worlds  beyond  our 
own,  and,  if  life  exists  in  them,  what  combinations  are  possible 
other  than  those  of  which  we  are  the  result !  What  is  life,  what 
is  organic  substance  in  this  monstrous  universe  but  an  indifferent 
mass,  a  passing  accident,  the  corruption  of  a  few  epidermic  par 
tides  ?  And  if  this  be  life,  what  is  that  humanity  which  is  so 
small  a  fragment  of  it  ?  Such  is  man  in  nature,  an  atom,  an 
ephemeral  particle;  let  this  not  be  lost  sight  of  in  our  theories 
concerning  his  origin,  his  importance,  and  his  destiny.  A  mite 
that  should  consider  itself  the  centre  of  all  things  would  be 
grotesque,  and  it  is  not  necessary  that  "  an  insect  almost  in- 
finitely small  should  show  conceit  almost  infinitely  great."  * 
How  slow  has  been  the  evolution  of  the  globe  itself!  What 
•nyriads  of  ages  between  the  first  cooling  of  its  mass  and  the  be- 
ginnings of  life ! 3  Of  what  consequence  is  the  turmoil  of  our 
ant-hill  alongside  of  the  geological  tragedy  in  which  we  have  borne 
no  part,  the  strife  between  fire  and  water,  the  thickening  of  the 
earth's  crust,  the  formation  of  the  universal  sea,  the  construction 
and  separation  of  continents !  Previous  to  our  historical  record 
what  a  long  history  of  vegetable  and  animal  existences !  What 
a  succession  of  flora  and  fauna !  What  generations  of  marine 
organisms  in  forming  the  strata  of  sediment !  What  generations 
of  plants  in  forming  the  deposits  of  coal !  What  transformations 
of  climate  to  drive  the  pachydermata  away  from  the  pole !  And 
now  comes  man,  the  latest  of  all,  shooting  up  as  the  terminal 

1  For  a  popular  exposition  of  these  ideas  see  Voltaire,  passim,  and  particularly  the  "  Mi- 
cromegas  "  and  "Les  Oreilles  du  Comte  de  Chesterfield." 

*  Cf.  Buffon,  ibid.  I.  31 :  "  Those  who  imagine  a  reply  with  final  causes  do  not  reflect 
that  they  take  the  effect  for  the  cause.  The  relationship  which  things  bear  to  us  having  no 
influence  whatever  on  their  origin,  moral  fitness  can  never  become  a  physical  explanation." 
Voltaire,  "Candide"  :  "  When  His  High  Mightiness  sends  a  vessel  to  Egypt  is  he  in  any  ro- 
tpect  embarrassed  about  the  comfort  of  th«:  mice  that  happen  to  be  aboard  of  it?  " 

1  Buffon,  ibid.  "Supplement,"  II.  513;  IV.  { ''  Epoques  de  la  Nature"),  65,  167  Ac- 
C'l^ing  to  his  experiments  with  the  cooling  of  a  cannon  ball  he  based  the  following  periods : 
t  iv.il  the  glowing  fluid  mass  of  the  planet  to  the  fall  of  rain  35,000  years.  From  the  begiu- 
ning  of  life  to  its  actual  condition  40,000  years.  From  its  actual  condition  io  the  entire  con- 
gealing of  it  and  the  extinction  of  life  93,000  years.  He  gives  these  figures  simply  as  th« 
mrnlma.  We  now  know  that  they  are  much  too  limited. 


fjb  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  m 

bud  of  the  top  of  a  lofty  antique  tree,  growing  there  a  few  sea- 
sons, but  destined  to  perish,  like  the  tree,  after  a  few  seasons, 
when  the  increasing  and  foretold  congelation  allowing  the  tree 
to  live  shall  force  the  tree  to  die.  He  is  not  alone  on  the 
branch:  beneath  him,  around  him,  on  a  level  with  him,  other 
buds  shoot  forth,  born  of  the  same  sap ;  but  he  must  not  forget, 
if  he  would  comprehend  his  own  being,  that,  along  with  himself, 
other  lives  exist  in  his  vicinity,  graduated  up  to  him  and  issuing 
from  the  same  trunk.  If  he  is  unique  he  is  not  isolated,  being 
an  animal  among  other  animals; l  in  him  and  with  them,  sub- 
stance, organization  and  birth,  formation  and  renewal,  func- 
tions, senses  and  appetites,  are  similar,  while  his  superior  in- 
telligence, like  their  rudimentary  intelligence,  has  for  an  indis- 
pensable organ  a  nervous  matter  whose  structure  is  the  same 
with  him  and  with  them.  Thus  surrounded,  brought  forth 
and  borne  along  by  nature,  is  it  to  be  supposed  that  in  nature  he  is 
an  empire  within  an  empire  ?  He  is  there  as  the  part  of  a  whole, 
by  virtue  of  being  a  physical  body,  a  chemical  composition,  an 
animated  organism,  a  sociable  animal,  among  other  bodies,  other 
compositions,  other  social  animals,  all  analogous  to  him ;  and,  by 
virtue  of  these  classifications,  he  is,  like  them,  subject  to  laws. 
For,  if  the  first  cause  is  unknown  to  us,  and  we  dispute  among 
ourselves  to  know  what  it  is,  whether  innate  or  external,  we  affirm 
with  certainty  the  mode  of  its  action,  and  that  it  operates  only 
according  to  fixed  and  general  laws.  Every  circumstance,  what- 
ever it  may  be,  is  conditioned,  and,  its  conditions  being  given,  it 
never  fails  to  conform  to  them.  Of  two  links  forming  a  chain, 
the  first  always  draws  on  the  second.  There  are  laws  for  num- 
bers, forms,  and  motions,  for  the  revolutions  of  the  planets  and 
the  fall  of  bodies,  for  the  diffusion  of  light  and  the  radiance  of 
heat,  for  the  attractions  and  repulsions  of  electricity,  for  chemical 
combinations,  and  for  the  growth,  equilibrium  and  dissolution  of 
organized  matter.  They  exist  for  the  growth,  support,  and  de- 
velopment of  human  societies,  for  the  formation,  conflict,  and 
direction  of  the  ideas,  the  passions  and  the  wills  of  human  indi- 
viduals.2 In  all  this,  man  continues  nature;  from  which  it  follows 

'  Buffon,  ibid.  I.  12 :  "  The  first  truth  derived  from  this  patient  investigation  of  nature  1* 
perhaps,  a  humiliating  truth  for  man,  that  of  taking  his  place  in  the  order  of  animals." 

*  Voltaire,  "  Philosophic,  Du  principe  d'action  :  "  "All  beings,  without  exception,  are  *u* 
ject  to  invariable  laws." 


CHAP.  r.  THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  DOCTRINE.  177 

that,  to  know  him,  it  is  necessary  to  study  him  in  her,  after  her, 
and  like  her,  with  the  same  independence,  the  same  precautions, 
and  in  the  same  spirit.  Through  this  remark  alone  the  method  of 
the  moral  sciences  is  fixed.  In  history,  in  psychology,  in  morals, 
in  politics,  the  thinkers  of  the  preceding  century,  Pascal,  Bossuet, 
Descartes,  Fe'ne'lon,  Malebranche,  and  La  Bruyere,  still  start  from 
dogma;  it  is  plain  to  every  one  qualified  to  read  them  that  their 
position  is  already  determined.  Religion  provided  them  with  a 
complete  theory  of  the  moral  order  of  things ;  according  to  this 
theory,  latent  or  exposed,  they  described  man  and  accommodated 
their  observations  to  the  preconceived  type.  The  writejs..fi£ 
the  eighteenth  century  reverse  this  nielhpd  :  they  dwell  on  man, 
on  the  observable  man,  and  on  his  surroundings;  in  their  eyes, 
conclusions  about  the  soul,  its  origin,  and  its  destiny,  must  come 
afterwards  and  depend  wholly,  not  on  that  which  revelation,  but 
on  that  which  observation,  furnishes.  The  moral  sciences  are 
divorced  from  theology  and  attach  themselves,  as  if  a  prolonga- 
tion of  them,  to  the  physical  sciences. 

III. 

Through  this  substitution  and  this  combination  they  become 
sciences.  In  history,  every  foundation  is  laid  on  which  we  of 
the  present  day  build.  Compare  Bossuet's  "  Discours  sur  1'his- 
toire  universelle,"  and  Voltaire's  "  Essai  sur  les  mceurs,"  and  we 
at  once  see  how  new  and  deep  these  foundations  were.  Criti- 
cism at  once  obtains  its  fundamental  principle :  considering  that 
the  laws  of  nature  are  universal  and  immutable  it  concludes  from 
this  that,  in  the  moral  world,  as  in  the  physical  world,  there  can 
be  no  infringement  of  them  and  that  no  arbitrary  or  foreign  force 
intervenes  to  disturb  the  regular  course  of  things,  which  affords 
a  sure  means  of  discerning  myth  from  truth.1  Biblical  exegesis 
is  born  out  of  this  maxim,  and  not  alone  that  of  Voltaire,  but 
the  exegetical  methods  of  the  future.  Meanwhile  he  sceptically 
examines  the  annals  of  all  people,  carelessly  cutting  away  and 
suppressing;  too  hastily,  extravagantly,  especially  where  the  an- 
cients are  concerned,  because  his  historical  expedition  is  simply 

1  "  Essai  sur  les  Moeurs,"  chap,  cxlvii.,  the  summary  :  "  The  intelligent  reader  readily 
ices  that  he  must  believe  only  in  great  events  possessing  some  probab'Jity,  and  view  with 
pity  the  fables  with  which  fanaticism,  romantic  taste  and  credulity  have  at  all  times  filled  the 
world." 


178  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  in 

a  reconnoitering  journey,  but  everywhere  bestowing  such  ac- 
curate glances  that  we  now  preserve  almost  all  the  outlines 
of  his  summary  chart.  The  primitive  man  was  not  a  superior 
being,  enlightened  from  above,  but  a  coarse  savage,  naked  and 
miserable,  slow  of  growth,  sluggish  in  progress,  the  most  destitute 
and  most  needy  of  all  animals,  and,  on  this  account,  sociable, 
endowed  like  the  bee  and  the  beaver  with  an  instinct  for  living 
in  groups,  and  moreover,  an  imitator  like  the  monkey,  but  more 
intelligent,  capable  of  passing  by  degrees  from  the  language 
of  gesticulation  to  that  of  articulation,  beginning  with  a  mono- 
syllabic idiom  which  gradually  increases  in  richness,  precision 
and  subtlety.1  How  many  centuries  are  requisite  to  attain  to 
this  primitive  language!  How  many  centuries  more  to  the 
discovery  of  the  most  necessary  arts,  the  use  of  fire,  the  fabrica- 
tion of  "hatchets  of  silex  and  jade,"  the  melting  and  refining 
of  metals,  the  domestication  of  animals,  the  production  and 
modification  of  edible  plants,  the  formation  of  early  civilized  and 
durable  communities,  the  discovery  of  writing,  figures  and  as- 
tronomical periods.2  Only  after  a  dawn  of  vast  and  infinite 
length,  do  we  see  in  Chaldea  and  in  China  the  commencement 
of  an  accurate  chronological  history.  There  are  five  or  six 
of  these  great  independent  centres  of  spontaneous  civilization, 
China,  Babylon,  ancient  Persia,  Indja,  Egypt,  Phoenicia,  and  the 

70  American  empires.  On  collecting  their  fragments  together, 
on  reading  such  of  their  books  as  have  been  preserved  and 
which  travellers  bring  to  us,  the  five  Kings  of  the  Chinese,  the 
Vedas  of  the  Hindoos,  the  Zendavesta  of  the  ancient  Persians, 
we  find  that  all  contain  religions,  moral  theories,  philosophies 
and  institutions,  as  worthy  of  study  as  our  own.  Three  of 
.hese  codes,  those  of  India,  China  and  the  Mussulmans,  still  at 

he  present  time  govern  countries  as  vast  as  our  Europe  and 
nations  of  equal  importance.  We  must  not,  like  Bossuet,  "over- 
iOok  the  universe  in  a  universal  history,"  and  subordinate  hu- 
manity to  a  small  population  confined  to  a  desolate  region 

1  "  Trait^  de  Metaphysique,"  chap.  i.      "  Having  fallen  on  this  little  heap  of  mud,  and 
with  no  more  idea  of  man  than  man  has  of  the  inhabitants  of  Mars  or  Jupiter,  I  set  foot  on 
the  shore  of  the  ocean  of  the  country  of  Caffraria  and  at  once  began  to  search  for  a  man.     I 
encounter  monkeys,  elephants  and  negroes,  with  gleams  of  imperfect  intelligence,  etc." 
The  new  method  is  here  clearly  apparent. 

2  "  Introduction  i  1'Essai  sur  les  Mojurs:  Des  Sauvages."     BufTon,  in  "Epoques  de  la 
nature,"  the  seventh  epoch,  precedes  Darwin  in  his  ideas  on  the  modification!:  of  the  usefirf 
species  of  animals. 


CHAP.  I.  THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  DOCTRINE.  173 

around  the  Dead  Sea.1  Human  history  is  a  thing  of  natural 
growth  like  the  rest;  its  direction  is  due  to  its  own  elements; 
no  external  force  guides  it,  but  the  inward  forces  that  create  it : 
it  is  not  tending  to  any  present ed  end  but  developing  a  result. 
And  the  chief  result  is  the  progress  of  the  human  mind. 
"Amidst  so  many  ravages  and  so  much  destruction,  we  see 
a  love  of  order  secretly  animating  the  human  species,  and  fore- 
stalling its  utter  ruin.  It  is  one  of  the  springs  of  nature  ever 
recovering  its  energy;  it  is  the  source  of  the  formation  of  the 
codes  of  nations;  it  causes  the  law  and  the  ministers  of  the 
law  to  be  respected  in  Tonquin  and  in  the  islands  of  Formosa 
as  well  as  in  Rome."  Man  thus  possesses  "  a  principle  of  rea- 
son," namely,  a  "  mechanical  instinct "  suggesting  to  him  useful 
implements;2  also  an  instinct  of  right  suggesting  to  him  his 
moral  conceptions.  These  two  instincts  form  a  part  of  his 
organization;  he  has  them  from  his  birth,  "as  the  birds  have 
their  feathers,  and  bears  their  hair."  Hence  he  is  perfectible 
through  nature  and  merely  conforms  to  nature  in  improving  his 
mind  and  in  bettering  his  condition.  The  savage,  "  the  Brazilian, 
is  an  animal  that  has  not  yet  attained  to  the  completeness  of  its 
species;  a  worm  enclosed  in  its  chrysalis  envelope  and  not 
to  become  a  butterfly  until  after  the  lapse  of  centuries."  Extend 
the  idea  farther  along  with  Turgot  and  Condorcet,3  and  with  all 
its  exaggerations,  we  see  arising,  before  the  end  of  the  century, 
our  modern  theory  of  progress,  that  which  founds  all  our  aspira- 
tions on  the  boundless  advance  of  the  sciences,  on  the  increase 
of  comforts  which  their  applied  discoveries  constantly  bring 
to  the  human  condition,  and  on  the  increase  of  good  sense 
which  their  discoveries,  popularized,  slowly  deposit  in  the  human 
brain. 

A  second  principle  has  to  be  established  to  complete  the  foun- 
dations of  history.  Discovered  by  Montesquieu  it  still  to-day 
serves  as  a  constructive  support,  and,  if  we  resume  the  work,  as  if 
on  the  substructure  of  the  master's  edifice,  it  is  simply  owing  to  ac- 
cumulated erudition  placing  at  our  disposal  more  substantial  and 
more  abundant  materials.  In  human  society  all  parts  are  inter- 

1  "  Remarques  de  1'Essai  sur  les  Moeurs."  "  We  may  speak  of  this  people  in  connection 
with  theology  but  they  are  not  entitled  to  a  prominent  place  in  history."  "Entretien  entre 
A,  B,  C,"  the  seventh. 

*  Franklin  defined  man  as  a  maker  of  tools. 

1  Condorcet,  "Esquisse  J'un  tableau  historique  des  progres  de  fesprit  humain." 


i&>  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  ir 

dependent;  no  modification  of  one  can  take  place  without  effect- 
ing proportionate  changes  in  the  others.  Institutions,  laws  and 
customs  are  not  mingled  together,  as  in  a  heap,  through  chance  01 
caprice,  but  connected  one  with  the  other  through  convenience 
or  necessity  as  in  a  harmony.1  According  as  authority  is  in  all, 
in  several  or  in  one  hand,  according  as  the  sovereign  admits  or 
rejects  laws  superior  to  himself,  with  intermediary  powers  below 
him,  everything  differs  or  tends  to  differ  in  an  understood  sense 
and  in  a  constant  quantity, — public  intelligence,  education,  the 
form  of  judgments,  the  nature  and  order  of  penalties,  the  condi- 
tion of  women,  military  organization  and  the  nature  and  extent 
of  taxation.  A  multitude  of  subordinate  wheels  depend  on  the 
great  central  wheel.  For,  if  the  clock  goes,  it  is  owing  to  the  har- 
mony of  its  various  parts,  from  which  it  follows  that,  on  this 
harmony  ceasing,  the  clock  gets  out  of  order.  But,  besides  the 
principal  spring,  there  are  others  which,  acting  on  or  in  combi- 
nation with  it,  give  to  each  clock  a  special  character  and  a  pecul- 
iar movement.  Such,  in  the  first  place,  is  climate,  that  is  to  say, 
the  degree  of  heat  or  cold,  humidity  or  dryness,  with  its  infinite 
effects  on  man's  physical  and  moral  attributes,  followed  by  its  in- 
fluence on  political,  civil  and  domestic  servitude  or  freedom. 
Likewise  the  soil,  according  to  its  fertility,  its  position  and  its  ex- 
tent. Likewise,  the  physical  regime  according  as  a  people  is 
composed  of  hunters,  shepherds  or  agriculturists.  Likewise  the 
fecundity  of  the  race,  and  the  consequent  slow  or  rapid  increase 
of  population,  and  also  the  excess  in  number,  now  of  males  and 
now  of  females.  And  finally,  likewise,  are  national  character  and 
religion.  All  these  causes,  each  added  to  the  other,  or  each  lim- 
ited by  the  other,  contribute  together  to  form  a  total  result,  namely 
society.  Simple  or  complex,  stable  or  unstable,  barbarous  or 
civilized,  this  society  contains  within  itself  its  explanations  of  its 
being.  Strange  as  its  structure  may  be,  it  can  be  explained, 
also  its  institutions  however  contradictory.  Neither  prosperity, 
nor  decline,  nor  despotism,  nor  freedom,  is  a  cast  of  the  die 
brought  on  by  the  vicissitudes  of  chance,  nor  so  many  passages 
of  theatrical  display  improvised  by  individual  wills.  They  are 

I  "Esprit  des  Lois,"  preface.  "I,  at  first,  examined  men,  thinking  that,  in  this  infinite 
liversity  of  laws  and  customs,  they  were  not  wholly  governed  by  their  fancies.  I  broughf 
principles  to  bear  and  I  found  special  cases  yielding  to  them  as  if  naturally,  the  histories  o* 
all  nations  being  simply  the  result  of  these,  each  special  law  »eing  connected  with  anothei 
uw  or  depending  on  some  general  law." 


CHAP.  i.  THE  SPIRJ7  AND  THE   DOCTRINE.  181 

conditions  from  which  we  cannot  abstract  ourselves.  In  any 
event  it  is  serviceable  to  know  these  conditions,  either  to  better 
ourselves  or  take  all  things  patiently,  now  to  carry  out  opportune 
reforms,  now  to  renounce  impracticable  reforms,  now  to  acquire 
the  skill  which  enables  us  to  succeed  and  now  to  acquire  the  pru- 
dence which  leads  us  to  abstain. 

IV. 

The  centre  of  the  moral  sciences  is  herein  reached;  the  ques- 
tion now  is  concerning  man  in  general.  The  natural  history  of 
the  soul  has  to  be  set  forth,  and  this  must  be  done  as  we  have 
done  the  others,  by  discarding  all  prejudice  and  adhering  to  facts, 
taking  analogy  for  our  guide,  beginning  with  origins  and  follow- 
ing, step  by  step,  the  development  by  which  the  infant,  the  savage, 
the  uncultivated  primitive  man,  is  converted  into  the  rational  and 
cultivated  man.  Let  us  consider  life  at  the  outset,  the  animal  at 
the  lowest  degree  on  the  scale,  man  as  soon  as  he  is  born.  The 
first  thing  we  find  is  sensation,  of  this  or  that  species,  agreeable 
or  painful,  and  next  a  want,  tendency  or  desire,  and  next  after 
these,  through  physiological  meclunism,  voluntary  or  involuntary 
movements,  more  or  less  exactly  and  more  or  less  quickly  appro- 
priated and  co-ordinated.  And  this  elementary  fact  is  not  merely 
primitive ;  it  is,  again,  constant  and  universal  since  we  encounter 
it  at  each  moment  of  each  life,  and  in  the  most  complicated  as 
well  as  in  the  simplest.  Let  us  accordingly  ascertain  whether  it  is 
not  the  thread  with  which  all  our  mental  cloth  is  woven,  and 
wnether  its  spontaneous  unfolding,  and  the  knotting  of  mesh  after 
mesh,  is  not  finally  to  produce  the  entire  network  of  our  thought 
and  passion.  Condillac,  with  a  mind  of  incomparable  precision 
and  lucidity,  provides  replies  to  nearly  all  the  important  questions 
arising  from  this  idea,  and  which  a  revival  of  theological  prejudice 
and  the  importation  of  German  metaphysics  into  France  was  to 
bring  into  discredit  at  the  beginning  of  the  nineteenth  century, 
but  which  fresh  observation,  the  establishment  of  mental  pathol- 
ogy, and  multiplied  vivisections  now  come  to  reanimate,  to  justify 
and  to  complete.1  Locke  had  already  stated  that  our  ideas  all 

1  Pinel  (1791),  Esquirol  (1838),  on  mental  diseases.  Prochaska,  Legallois  (1812),  and  then 
Flourens  for  vivisection.  Hartly  and  James  Mill  at  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century  follow 
Condillac  on  the  same  psychological  load ;  all  contemporary  psychologists  have  entered 
ipon  it.  (Wundt,  Helmholtz,  Fechnti,  in  Germany,  Bain,  Stuart  Mill,  Herbert  Spencer 
•nd  Carpenter,  in  England). 

16 


i8a  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  lit 

originate  in  outward  or  inward  experience.  CondilUc  shows 
additionally  that  the  actual  elements  of  perception,  memory,  idea, 
imagination,  judgment,  reasoning,  knowledge  are  sensations, 
properly  so  called,  or  revived  sensations;  our  loftiest  ideas  are 
derived  from  no  other  materials,  for  they  can  be  reduced  to 
signs  which  are  themselves  sensations  of  a  certain  kind.  Sen- 
sations accordingly  form  the  substance  of  human  or  of  ani.aal  in- 
telligence; but  the  former  infinitely  surpasses  the  latter  in  this, 
that,  through  the  creation  of  signs,  it  succeeds  in  isolating,  ab- 
stracting and  noting  fragments  of  sensations,  that  is  to  say,  of 
forming,  combining  and  employing  general  conceptions.  This 
being  granted,  we  are  able  to  verify  all  our  ideas,  for,  through  re- 
flection, we  can  revive  and  reconstruct  the  ideas  we  had  formed 
without  any  reflection.  No  abstract  definitions  exist  at  the 
outset;  abstraction  is  ulterior  and  derivative;  at  the  head  of 
each  science  must  be  placed  examples,  experiences,  concrete 
facts  ;  from  these  we  derive  our  general  idea.  In  like  manner 
we  derive  from  several  general  ideas  of  the  same  degree  a  more 
general  idea,  and  so  on  successively,  step  by  step,  always  proceed- 
ing according  to  the  natural  order  of  things,  by  constant  analysis, 
using  expressive  signs,  as  with  mathematicians  who  pass  from 
calculation  by  the  fingers  to  calculation  by  numerals  and  from 
this  to  calculation  by  letters,  and  who,  calling  upon  the  eyes  to 
aid  reason,  depict  the  inward  analogy  of  quantities  by  the  outward 
analogy  of  symbols.  In  this  way  science  becomes  complete  by 
means  of  a  properly  organized  language.1  Through  this  reversal 
of  the  usual  method  we  summarily  dispose  of  disputes  about 
words,  escaping  the  illusions  of  human  speech,  simplifying  study, 
remodelling  education,  insuring  discoveries,  subjecting  every  as- 
sertion to  control  and  bringing  all  truths  within  reach  of  all  un- 
derstandings. 

V. 

Such  is  the  course  to  be  pursued  with  all  the  sciences  and  es- 
pecially with  the  moral  and  political  sciences.  To  consider  in 
turn  each  distinct  province  of  human  activity,  to  decompose  the 
leading  notions  out  of  which  we  form  our  conceptions,  those  of 
religion,  society  and  government,  those  of  utility,  wealth  and  ex- 

•  Condillac,  passim.,  and  especially  in  his  last  two  works  the  "  Logique,"  and  the     Longm 
ies  Calculi." 


CHAP.  i.  THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  DOCTRINE.  183 

change,  those  of  justice,  right  and  duty ;  to  revert  to  palpable 
facts,  to  first  experiences,  to  the  simple  circumstances  harboring 
the  elements  of  our  ideas ;  to  derive  from  these  the  precious  ore 
without  loss  or  alloy ;  to  recompose  our  ideas  with  this,  to  fix  its 
meaning  and  determine  its  value ;  to  substitute  for  the  vague  and 
vulgar  notion  with  which  we  started,  the  precise  scientific  de- 
finition we  arrive  at,  the  base  metal  we  receive  for  the  refined 
metal  we  obtain,  constituted  the  prevalent  method  taught  by  the 
philosophers  under  the  name  of  analysis,  and  which  sums  up  the 
whole  progress  of  the  century.  Up  to  this  point,  and  no  farther, 
they  are  right :  truth,  every  truth,  is  found  in  observable  objects 
and  only  from  thence  can  it  be  derived ;  there  is  no  other  pathway 
leading  to  discovery.  The  operation,  undoubtedly,  is  productive 
only  when  the  vein  is  rich  and  we  possess  the  means  of  extract- 
ing the  ore.  To  obtain  a  just  notion  of  government,  of  religion, 
of  right,  of  wealth,  a  man  must  be  a  historian  beforehand,  a 
jurisconsult  and  economist,  and  have  gathered  up  myriads  of 
facts;  and,  besides  all  this,  he  must  possess  a  vast  erudition 
and  practised  and  special  acuteness.  If  these  conditions  are  only 
partially  complied  with,  the  operation  again  doubtless  affords 
but  incomplete  results  or  a  dubious  alloy,  a  few  rough  drafts  of 
the  sciences,  the  rudiments  of  pedagogy  along  with  Rousseau, 
of  political  economy  with  Quesnay,  Smith,  and  Turgot,  of  linguist- 
ics with  Des  Brosses,  and  of  arithmetical  morals  and  criminal  leg- 
islation with  Bentham.  Finally,  if  none  of  these  conditions  are 
complied  with,  the  same  operation  in  the  hands  of  closet  specula- 
tors, drawing-room  amateurs,  and  oratorical  charlatans  in  public 
places,  will  undoubtedly  end  only  in  mischievous  compounds  and 
in  destructive  explosions.  Nevertheless  a  good  law  remains 
good  even  when  the  ignorant  and  the  impetuous  make  a  bad 
use  of  it,  and  if  we  of  to-day  resume  the  abortive  effort  of  the 
eighteenth  century  it  is  within  the  lines  it  transmitted  to  us. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  CLASSIC  SPIRIT,  THE  SECOND  ELEMENT. — I.  Its  signs,  duration  and 
power. — Its  origin  and  public  supporters. — Its  vocabulary,  grammar  and 
style. — Its  method,  merits  and  defects. — II.  Its  original  deficiency. — 
Signs  of  this  in  the  1 7th  century. — It  grows  with  time  and  success. — 
Proofs  of  this  growth  in  the  i8th  century. — Serious  poetry,  the  drama, 
history  and  romances. — Short-sighted  views  of  man  and  of  human  existence. 
— III.  The  philosophic  method  in  conformity  with  it. — Ideology. — Abuse  of 
the  mathematical  process. — Condillac,  Rousseau,  Mably,  Condorcet,  Volney, 
Sieyes,  Cabanis,  an<J  de  Tracy. — Excesses  of  simplification  and  boldness  of 
deduction. 

THIS  grand  and  magnificent  edifice  of  new  truths  resembles  a 
tower  of  which  the  first  story,  quickly  finished,  at  once  becomes 
accessible  to  the  public.  The  public  ascends  the  structure  and 
is  requested  by  its  constructors  to  look  about,  not  at  the  sky  and 
at  surrounding  space,  but  right  before  it  and  on  the  ground,  so 
as  to  know  the  country  on  which  it  dwells.  The  point  of  view 
is  certainly  favorable  and  the  recommendation  is  judicious.  To 
conclude,  however,  that  the  public  will  see  accurately  would  not 
be  warranted,  for  the  state  of  its  eyes  must  be  examined,  to  ascer- 
tain whether  it  is  near  or  far-sighted,  or  if  the  retina  naturally,  or 
through  habit,  is  sensitive  to  certain  colors.  In  like  manner  the 
French  of  the  eighteenth  century  must  be  considered,  the  struct- 
ure of  their  inward  vision,  that  is  to  say,  the  fixed  form  of  under- 
standing they  bear  with  them,  unconsciously  and  undesignedly, 
into  the  tower. 

I. 

I.  This  fixed  form  consists  of  the  classic  spirit,  and  this,  ap- 
plied to  the  scientific  acquisitions  of  the  period,  produces  the 
philosophy  of  the  century  and  the  doctrines  of  the  Revolution 
Various  signs  denote  its  presence,  and  notably  its  oratorical,  reg- 
ular and  correct  style,  wholly  consisting  of  generalized  expressions 
and  of  contiguous  ideas.  It  lasts  two  centuries,  from  Malherbe  and 


CHAP.  II  THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  DOCTRINE.  185 

Balzac  to  Delille  and  de  Fontanes,  and  du.ing  this  .cng  period, 
no  man  of  intellect,  save  two  or  three,  and  then  only  in  the  secret 
memoirs,  as  in  the  case  of  Sj^Simon,  also  in  familiar  letters  like 
those  of  the  Marquis  and  bailly  of^Hffabeau,  either  dares  or  can 
withdraw  himself  from  its  empire.  Far  from  disappearing  with 
the  ancient  r6gime  it  forms  the  matrix  out  of  which  every  discourse 
and  document  issues,  even  the  phrases  and  vocabulary  of  the 
Revolution.  Now,  what  is  more  .efficacious  than  a  mould  pre- 
pared beforehand,  either  imposed  or  accepted,  in  which,  by  virtue 
of  natural  tendency,  of  tradition  and  of  education,  every  mind 
must  shut  itself  up  to  think  ?  Hence  the  historic  force,  and  of 
the  highest  order,  which  this  one  possesses.  Fully  to  comprehend 
it  let  us  study  its  formation. 

Its  establishment  is  coeval  with  that  of  the  regular  monarchy 
and  polished  intercourse,  and  it  accompanies  these,  not  acciden- 
tally but  in  the  natural  order  of  things.  For  it  is  the  work  of  the 
new  public  which  the  new  regime  and  new  habits  then  formed, 
consisting  of  an  aristocracy  rendered  listless  by  the  encroaching 
monarchy,  of  people  well  born  and  well  educated  who,  with- 
drawn from  activity,  fall  back  on  conversation  and  devote  their 
leisure  to  enjoying  the  calm  or  refined  pleasures  of  the  intellect.3 
At  last  they  find  no  other  occupation  or  interest:  to  talk,  tc 
listen,  to  entertain  themselves  agreeably  and  with  ease,  on  all 
subjects,  grave  or  gay,  of  any  interest  to  the  men,  and  especially 
to  the  women,  of  society  is  their  great  affair.  In  the  seventeenth 
century  they  are  styled  "honest  folks"  and  thenceforth  a  writer, 
even  the  most  abstract,  addresses  himself  to  them.  "  The  honest 
man,"  says  Descartes,  "need  not  have  read  all  books  nor  have 
studiously  acquired  all  that  is  taught  in  the  schools ; "  and  he  en- 
titles his  last  treatise,  "A  search  for  Truth  according  to  natural 
light  which  alone,  without  the  aid  of  Religion  or  Philosophy,  de- 
termines the  truths  an  honest  man  should  possess  on  all  matters 
forming  the  subjects  of  his  thoughts."  2  In  short,  from  one  end 

1  Voltaire,  "Diet  Phil.,"  see  the  article  on  Language.  "Of  all  the  languages  in  Europe 
tht  French  is  most  generally  used  because  it  is  the  best  adapted  to  conversation.  Its  char- 
»cter  is  derived  from  that  of  the  people  who  speak  it.  For  more  than  a  hundred  and  fifty 
years  past,  the  French  have  been  the  most  familiar  with  society  and  the  first  to  discard  any 
discomfort  in  it  ...  It  is  a  better  currency  than  any  other  even  if  it  should  lack  weight" 

'Descartes,  ed.  Cousin,  XI.  333,  I.  121.  Descartes  depreciates  "simple  knowledge  ac- 
quired without  the  aid  of  reflection,  such  as  languages,  histo:y,  geography,  and,  generally, 
whatever  is  based  only  on  experience.  ...  It  is- no  more  the  duty  of  an  honest  man  to  know 
Greek  or  Latin  than  to  know  the  Swiss  01  Breton  languages,  nor  the  history  of  the  Romano 
Germanic  empire  any  more  than  of  the  smallest  country  in  Europe." 

1 6* 


I 


186  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  m 

of  his  philosophy  to  the  other,  the  only  qualifi  cation  he  demands 
of  his  readers  is  "natural  good  sense"  added  to  the  commop 
stock  of  experience  acquired  by  contact  with  the  world.  As 
these  form  the  auditory  they  are  likewise  the  judges.  "One 
must  study  the  taste  of  the  court,"  says  Moliere,1  "for  in  no  place 
are  verdicts  more  just.  .  .  .  With  simple  common  sense  and  in- 
tercourse with  people  of  refinement,  a  habit  of  mind  is  there 
obtained  which,  without  comparison,  forms  a  more  accurate 
judgment  of  things  than  the  rusty  attainments  of  the  pedants." 
From  this  time  forth,  it  may  be  said  that  the  arbiter  of  truth  and 
of  taste  is  not,  as  before,  an  erudite  Scaliger,  but  a  man  of  the 
world,  a  Larochefoucauld,  or  a  TreVille.2  The  pedant  and,  after 
him,  the  savant,  the  specialist,  is  set  aside.  "True  honest  peo- 
ple," says  Nicole  after  Pascal,  "require  no  sign.  They  need  not 
be  divined ;  they  join  in  the  conversation  going  on  as  they  enter 
the  room.  They  are  not  styled  either  poets  or  geometers  but 
they  are  the  judges  of  all  these."  3  In  the  eighteenth  century  they 
constitute  the  sovereign  authority.  In  the  great  crowd  of  "im- 
beciles," sprinkled  with  vulgar  pedants,  there  is,  says  Voltaire,- "a 
small  group  apart  called  good  society,  which  group,  rich,  well 
brought  up,  well  informed  and  polished,  forms,  so  to  say,  the 
flower  of  humanity ;  for  it  the  greatest  men  have  labored ;  it  is  that 
which  creates  fame." 4  Admiration,  favor,  importance,  belong  not 
to  those  who  are  worthy  of  it  but  to  those  who  address  themselves 
to  this  group.  "In  1789,"  said  the  Abbe  Maury,  "the  French 
Academy  alone  enjoyed  any  consideration  in  France,  and  it  really 
gave  a  position.  That  of  the  Sciences  signified  nothing  in  public 
opinion  any  more  than  that  of  Inscriptions.  .  .  .  Languages 
form  the  science  of  simpletons.  D'Alembert  was  ashamed  of  be- 
longing to  the  Academy  of  Sciences.  Only  a  handful  of  peo- 
ple listen  to  a  mathematician,  a  chemist,  etc. ;  the  man  of  letters, 

1  Moliere,  "Les  Femmes  Savantes,"  and  "La  Cridque  de  I'icole  des  femmes."     The 
parts  of  Dorante  with  Lycidas  and  of  Clitandre  with  Trissotin. 

*  The  learned  Huet,  (1630-1721),  true  to  the  tasta  of  the  sixteenth  century,  describes  this 
change  very  well  from  his  point  of  view.     "  When  1  entered  the  world  of  letters  these  were 
still  flourishing ;  great  reputations  maintained  their  supremacy.     I  have  seen  letters  decline 
and  finally  reach  an  almost  entire  decay.     For  I  scarcely  know  a  person  of  the  present  time 
that  one  can  truly  call  a  savant."    Ducange,  some  few  Benedictines  like  Mabillon,  and  later, 
the  academician  FreVet,  the  president  Bouhier  of  Dijon,  in  short,  the  veritable  erudites  exer 
cise  no  influence. 

3  Nicole,  "  CEuvres  morales,"  in  the  second  essay  on  Charity  and  Self-love,  143. 

*  Voltaire,  "  Dialogues,"  '  L'intendant  des  menus  et  1'abbA  Orizel,"  129. 


CHAP.  ii.  THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  DOCTRINE.  187 

the  orator,  addresses  the  universe."  *  Under  a  strong  pressure  01 
this  kind  the  mind  necessarily  accommodates  itself  to  the  exigen 
cies,  the  proprieties,  the  tastes,  and  the  degret,  Di  attention  and 
of  instruction  of  its  public.  Hence  the  classic  mould, — formed 
out  of  the  habit  of  speaking,  writing  and  thinking  for  a  drawing- 
room  audience. 

This  is  evidently  the  case,  and  at  the  nrst  glance,  in  relation  to 
style  and  language.  Between  Amyqtj  Rabelais  and  Montaigne 
on  the  one  hand,  and  Chateaubriand,  Victor  Hugo  and  Honore 
de  Balzac  on  the  other,  classic  French  comes  into  being  and  dies. 
Its  title  is  ensured  at  the  start;  it  is  the  language  of  honest  peo- 
ple ;  it  is  fashioned  not  merely  for  them,  but  by  them,  and  Vau- 
gelas,2  their  secretary,  devotes  himself  for  thirty  years  to  the  reg- 
istry of  decisions  according  to  the  usages  only  of  good  society. 
Hence,  in  all  its  parts,  both  in  its  vocabulary  and  in  its  grammar, 
language  is  refashioned  over  and  over  again,  according  to  the  cast 
of  their  intellects,  which  is  the  prevailing  intellect.  In  the  first 
place  the  vocabulary  is  diminished.  Most  of  the  words  specially 
employed  on  erudite  and  technical  subjects,  expressions  that  are 
too  Greek  and  too  Latin,  terms  peculiar  to  the  schools,  to  science^ 
to  occupations,  to  the  household,  are  excluded  from  discourse ; 
those  too  closely  denoting  a  particular  occupation  or  profession 
are  not  considered  proper  in  general  conversation.  A  vast  num- 
ber of  picturesque  and  expressive  words  are  dropped,  all  that  are 
crude,  gaulois  or  naifs,  all  that  are  local  and  provincial,  or  per- 
sonal and  made-up,  all  familiar  and  proverbial  locutions,3  many 
brusque,  familiar  and  frank  turns  of  thought,  every  haphazard, 
telling  metaphor,  almost  every  description  of  impulsive  and  dex- 
terous utterance  throwing  a  flash  of  light  into  the  imagination 
and  bringing  into  view  the  precise,  colored  and  complete  form, 
but  of  which  a  too  vivid  impression  would  run  counter  to  the 
proprieties  of  polite  conversation.  "  One  improper  word,"  said 

1  Mably  adds  with  his  accustomed  coarseness,  "We,  in  the  French  Academy,  looked  upon 
the  members  of  the  Academy  of  Sciences  as  our  valets. "  These  valets  at  that  time  consL  ted 
of  Lavoisier,  Fourcroy,  Lagrange,  Laplace,  etc.  (A  narrative  by  Joseph  de  Maistre,  quoted 
by  Sainte-Beuve,  "Causeries  du  lundi,"  IV.  283.) 

*  Vaugelas,  "  Remarques  sur  la  langue  francaise : "  "  It  is  the  mode  of  speech  of  the 
most  sensible  portion  of  the  court  as  well  as  the  mode  of  writing  of  ths  most  sensible  authois 
of  the  day.  It  is  better  to  consult  women  and  those  who  have  not  studied  than  those  who 
are  very  learned  in  Greek  and  in  Latin." 

1  One  of  the  causes  of  the  fall  and  discredit  of  the  Marquis  d'Argenson  in  the  eighteenth 
century,  was  his  habit  of  using  these. 


188  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  in. 

Vaugelas,  "  is  all  that  is  necessary  to  bring  a  person  in  societ) 
into  contempt,"  and,  on  the  eve  of  the  Revolution,  an  objection- 
able term  denounced  by  Madame  de  Luxembourg  still  consigns 
a  man  to  the  rank  of  "  especes  "  because  correct  expression  is  ever 
an  element  of  good  manners.  Language,  through  this  constant 
screening,  becomes  attenuated  and  colorless :  Vaugelas  estimates 
that  one-half  of  the  phrases  and  terms  employed  by  Amyot  are 
stricken  out.1  With  the  exception  of  La  Fontaine,  an  isolated 
and  spontaneous  genius,  who  reopens  tRe  oia  sources,  and  La 
/'  Bruyere,  a  bold  seeker,  who  opens  a  fresh  source,  and  Voltaire, 
an  incarnate  demon  who,  in  his  anonymous  and  pseudonymous 
writings,  gives  the  rein  to  the  violent,  crude  expressions  of  his  in- 
spiration,2 the  terms  which  are  most  appropriate  fall  into  desue- 
tude. One  day,  Gresset,  in  a  discourse  at  the  Academy,  dares 
utter  four  or  five  of  these,3  relating,  I  believe,  to  carriages  and 
head-dresses,  whereupon  murmurs  at  once  burst  forth.  During 
his  long  retreat  he  had  become  provincial  and  lost  the  tone.  By 
degrees,  discourses  are  composed  of  "  general  expressions  "  only. 
These  are  even  employed,  in  accordance  with  Buffon's  precept,  to 
designate  particular  objects.  They  are  more  in  conformity  with  the 
urbane  disposition  which  effaces,  smooths  away  and  avoids  brusque 
and  familiar  accents,  to  which  a  crowd  of  ideas  seems  gross  or 
trivial  when  not  enveloped  in  a  semi-transparency.  They  are 
better  suited  to  a  languid  attention ;  general  terms  in  conversa- 
tion alone  suddenly  arouse  current  and  common  ideas;  they  are 
intelligible  to  every  man  from  the  single  fact  that  he  belongs  to  the 
drawing-room ;  special  terms,  on  the  contrary,  demand  an  effort 
of  the  memory  or  of  the  imagination;  suppose  that,  in  relation 
to  Franks  or  to  savages,  I  should  mention  "  a  battle-axe,"  which 
would  be  at  once  understood;  should  I  mention  a  "tomahawk," 
or  a  "francisque? 4  many  would  imagine  that  I  was  speaking  Teu« 
ton  or  Iroquois.5  In  this  respect  the  more  elevated  the  genus, 

1  Vaugelas,  ibid.  "Although  we  may  have  eliminated  one-half  of  his  phrases  and  terms 
we  nevertheless  obtain  in  the  other  half  all  the  riches  of  which  we  boast  and  of  which  we 
make  a  display."  Compare  together  a  lexicon  of  two  or  three  writers  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury and  one  of  two  or  three  writers  of  the  seventeenth.  A  brief  statement  of  the  results  oi 
the  comparison  is  here  given.  Let  any  one,  with  pen  in  hand,  note  the  differences  on  a 
hundred  pages  of  any  of  these  texts,  and  he  will  be  surprised  at  it  Take,  for  example,  two 
imters  of  the  same  category,  and  of  secondary  grade,  Charron  and  Nicole. 

*  For  instance,  in  the  article  "  Ignorance,"  in  the  "Diet.  Philosophique." 

*  La  Harpe,  "  Cours  de  Litterature,"  ed.  Dklot.  II.  142. 

*  A  battle-axe  used  by  the  Franks. — TR. 

*  I  cite  an  example  haphazard  from  the  "Optimiste"  (1788),  by  Colin  d'Harlevillc     la 


CHAP.  II.  THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  DOCTRINE.  189 

the  more  powerful  the  scruple ;  every  appropriate  word  is  ban- 
ished  from  poetry ;  if  one  happens  to  enter  the  mind  it  must  be 
evaded  or  replaced  by  a  paraphrase.  An  eighteenth  century  poet 
avails  himself  of  but  little  more  than  one-third  of  the  dictionary, 
and  poetic  language  at  last  becomes  so  restricted  as  to  compel 
a  man  with  anything  to  utter  not  to  utter  it  in  verse. 

On  the  other  hand  the  more  pruning  language  undergoes  the 
clearer  it  becomes.  Reduced  to  a  select  vocabulary  the  French- 
man says  fewer  things,  but  he  says  them  more  agreeably  and  more 
accurately.  "Urbanity,  exactitude,"  these  two  words,  born  at 
the  same  time  with  the  French  Academy,  are  an  abridgment  of 
the  reform  of  which  it  is  the  organ,  and  which  the  drawing-room, 
by  it,  and  alongside  of  it,  imposes  on  the  public.  Grand  seigniors 
in  retirement,  and  unoccupied  fine  ladies,  obtain  amusement  in 
an  examination  of  the  subtleties  of  words  for  the  purpose  of  com- 
posing maxims,  definitions  and  characters.  With  admirable 
scrupulousness  and  infinitely  delicate  tact,  writers  and  people  of 
society  apply  themselves  to  weighing  each  word  and  each 
phrase  in  order  to  fix  its  sense,  to  measure  its  force  and  bearing, 
to  determine  its  affinities,  use  and  connections ;  and  this  work  of 
precision  is  carried  on  from  the  earliest  academicians,  Vaugelas, 
Chapelain  and  Conrart,  to  the  end  of  the  classic  epoch,  in  the; 
"Synonymes"  of  Bauz6e  and  Girard,  in  the  "Remarques"  by  I 
Duclos,  in  the  "Commentaire"  by  Voltaire,  on  Corneille,  in  the' 
"Lyce"e"  of  La  Harpe,1  in  the  efforts,  the  example,  the  practice 
and  the  authority  of  the  great  and  the  inferior  writers  of  which  all 
are  correct.  Never  did  architects,  obliged  to  use  the  common 
stones  of  a  highway  in  building,  better  understand  each  piece, 
its  dimensions,  its  shape,  its  resistance,  its  possible  connections 
and  suitable  position.  All  this  understood,  the  question  arises 
how  to  construct  with  the  least  trouble  and  with  the  utmost  so- 
lidity, while  the  grammar  undergoes  reformation  in  the  same  sense 
as  the  dictionary.  Words  following  each  other  according  to  the 
variable  order  of  impressions  and  emotions  are  no  longer  allow- 
able; they  must  be  regularly  and  rigorously  assigned  accord 

a  certain  description,  "The  scene  represents  a  bosquet  filled  with  odoriferous  trees  "  The 
classic  spirit  rebels  against  stating  the  species  of  tree,  whether  lilacs,  lindens  or  hawthois. 
In  the  landscapes  of  this  era  we  have  the  same  thing,  the  trees  being  generalized, — a  no 
known  species. 

1  See  in  the  "Lyc£e,"  by  La  Harpe,  after  the  analysis  of  each  piece,  his  remark*   on 
detail  in  style. 


rgo  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME  BOOK  in. 

ing  to  the  unchangeable  order  of  ideas.  The  author  loses  the 
right  of  placing  ahead,  or  as  a  vidette,  the  object  or  trait  which 
first  and  most  vividly  impresses  him ;  the  plan  is  arranged  and 
positions  are  assigned  beforehand.  Each  portion  of  the  discourse 
has  its  own  plan ;  no  omission  or  transposition  is  permitted  as  was 
done  in  the  sixteenth  century;1  all  are  necessary  to  it,  ard  in 
definite  positions,  at  first  the  subject  of  the  sentence  with  its 
appendices,  then  the  verb,  then  the  object  direct  and,  finally,  the 
indirect  connections.  In  this  way  the  sentence  forms  a  graduated 
scaffolding,  the  substance  coming  foremost,  then  the  quality,  then 
the  modes  and  varieties  of  the  quality,  just  as  a  good  architect 
in  the  first  place  poses  his  foundation,  then  the  building,  then  the 
accessories,  economically  and  prudently,  with  a  view  to  adapt 
each  section  of  the  edifice  to  the  support  of  the  section  following 
after  it.  There  is  no  phrase  demanding  any  less  degree  of  atten- 
tion, nor  is  there  any  in  which  one  may  not  at  every  step  verify 
the  connection  or  incoherence  of  the  parts.8  The  method  govern- 
ing the  arrangement  of  the  simple  sentence  also  governs  that  of 
the  period,  the  paragraph  and  the  series  of  paragraphs;  it 
forms  the  style  as  it  forms  the  syntax.  Each  small  edifice  occupies 
a  distinct  position,  and  but  one,  in  the  great  total  edifice.  As 
the  discourse  advances,  each  section  must  in  turn  file  in,  never 
before,  never  after,  no  parasitic  member  being  allowed  to  intrude, 
and  no  regular  member  being  allowed  to  encroach  on  its  neigh- 
bor, while  all  these  members  bound  together  by  their  very  posi- 
tions must  move  onward,  combining  all  their  forces  on  one  single 
point.  Finally,  we  have  for  the  first  time  in  a  writing,  natural 
and  distinct  groups,  complete  and  compact  harmonies,  none  of 
which  infringe  on  the  others  or  allow  others  to  infringe  on  them. 
It  is  no  longer  allowable  to  write  haphazard,  according  to  the  ca- 
price of  one's  inspiration,  to  discharge  one's  ideas  in  bulk,  to 
let  oneself  be  interrupted  by  parentheses,  to  string  along  inter- 
minable rows  of  citations  and  enumerations.  An  end  is  proposed; 
some  truth  is  to  be  demonstrated,  some  definition  to  be  ascer- 
tained, some  conviction  to  be  brought  about ;  to  do  this  we  must 
march  and  ever  directly  onward.  Order,  sequence,  progress, 

1  The  omission  cf  the  pronouns,  /,  ke,  we,  you,  they,  the  article  the,  and  of  the  verb 
especially  the  verb  to  be.  Any  page  of  Rabelais,  Amyot  or  Montaigne,  suffices  to  show  how 
numerous  and  various  were  the  transpositions. 

!  Vaugelas,  ibid.  "No  language  is  more  inimical  to  ambiguities  and  every  species  •' 
obscurity." 


CHAP.  II. 


THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  DOCTRINE. 


191 


proper  transitions,  constant  development  constitute  the  character- 
istics of  this  style.  To  such  an  extent  is  this  pushed,  that  from 
the  very  first,  familiar  letters,  romances,  humorous  pieces,  and  all 
ironical  and  gallant  effusions,  consist  of  morsels  of  systematic 
eloquence.1  At  the  Hotel  Rambouillet,  the  explanatory  period  is 
displayed  with  as  much  fulness  and  as  rigorously  as  with  Des- 
cartes himself.  One  of  the  words  the  most  frequently  occurring 
with  Mme.  de  Scudery  is  the  conj  unction  for.  Passion  is  worked 
out  through  close-knit  arguments.  Drawing-room  compliments 
stretch  along  in  sentences  as  finished  as  those  of  an  academical 
oration.  Scarcely  completed,  the  instrument  already  discloses 
its  aptitudes ;  we  are  aware  of  its  being  made  to  explain,  to  de- 
monstrate, to  persuade  and  to  popularize  ;  Condillac,  a  century 
later,  is  justified  in  saying  that  it  is  in  itself  a  systematic  process 
of  decomposition  and  of  recomposition,  a  scientific  method 
analogous  to  arithmetic  and  algebra.  At  the  very  least  it  pos 
sesses  the  incontestable  advantage  of  starting  with  a  few  ordi- 
nary terms  and  of  leading  the  reader  along  with  facility  and 
promptness,  by  a  series  of  simple  combinations,  up  to  the  loftiest.3 
By  virtue  of  this,  in  1789,  the  French  tongue  ranks  above  every 
other.  The  Berlin  Academy  establishes  a  prize  to  secure  an  ex- 
planation of  its  pre-eminence.  It  is  spoken  throughout  Europe. 
No  other  language  is  used  in  diplomacy.  As,  formerly,  with  Latin, 
it  is  international  and  henceforth  seems  to  be  the  chosen  organ 
of  reasoning. 

It  is  the  organ  only  of  a  certain  species  of  reasoning,  la  raison 
raisonnante,  that  requiring  the  least  preparation  for  thought, 
giving  itself  as  little  trouble  as  possible,  content  with  its  acquisi- 
tions, taking  no  pains  to  increase  or  renew  them,  incapable  of, 
or  unwilling  to  embrace  the  plenitude  and  complexity  of  actual- 
ities. In  its  purism,  in  its  disdain  of  terms  suited  to  the  occasion, 
in  its  avoidance  of  lively  sallies,  in  the  extreme  regularity  of  its 
developments,  the  classic  style  is  powerless  to  fully  portray  or  to 
record  the  infinite  and  varied  details  of  experience.  It 


•  See  the  principal  romances  of  the  seventeenth  century,  the  "Roman  Bourgeois,"  bj 
Furetiere,  the  "Princesse  de  Cleves,"  by  Madame  de  Lafayette,  the  "Ctelie,"  by  Mme.  de 
Scudery,  and  even  Scarron's  "Roman  Comique."  See  Balzac's  letters,  and  those  of  Voiture 
and  their  correspondents,  the  "  Recit  des  grands  jours  d' Auvergne,"  by  Fle'chier,  etc  On 
the  oratorical  peculiarities  of  this  style  cf.  Sainte-Beuve,  "  Port- Royal,"  ad  ed.  I.  515. 

1  Voltaire,  "Essai  sur  le  poeme  6pique:  Our  nation,  regarded  by  strangers  as  superficial, 
is,  with  the  pen  in  its  hand,  the  wisest  of  ali.  Method  is  the  dominant  quality  of  all  our 
writers." 


& 


igt  t       THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  in. 

to  render  the  outward  guise  of  things,  the  immediate  sensations 
of  the  spectator,  the  heights  and  depths  of  passion,  the  physiog- 
nomy, at  once  so  composite  and  absolutely  personal,  of  the 
breathing  individual,  in  short,  that  unique  harmony  of  countless 
traits,  blended  together  and  animated,  which  compose  not  human 
character  in  general  but  one  particular  character,  and  which 
a  Saint-Simon,  a  Balzac,  or  a  Shakespeare  himself  could  not 
render  if  the  copious  language  they  used,  and  which  was  en- 
riched by  their  temerities,  did  not  contribute  its  subtleties  to  the 
multiplied  details  of  their  observation.1  Neither  the  Bible,  nor 
Homer,  nor  Dante,  nor  Shakespeare 2  could  be  translated  with 
this  style.  Read  Hamlet's  monologue  in  Voltaire  and  see  what 
remains  of  it,  an  abstract  piece  of  declamation,  with  about  as 
much  of  the  original  in  it  as  there  is  of  Othello  in  his  Orosmane. 
Look  at  Homer  and  then  at  Fenelon  in  the  island  of  Calypso; 
the  wild,  rocky  island,  where  "gulls  and  other  sea-birds  with 
long  wings,"  build  their  nests,  becomes  in  pure  French  prose  an 
orderly  park  arranged  "for  the  pleasure  of  the  eye."  In  the 
eighteenth  century,  contemporary  novelists,  themselves  belonging 
to  the  classic  epoch,  Fielding,  Swift,  Defoe,  Sterne  and  Richard- 
son, are  admitted  into  France  only  after  excisions  and  much 
weakening ;  their  expressions  are  too  free  and  their  scenes  are  too 
impressive ;  their  freedom,  their  coarseness,  their  quaintness,  would 
form  blemishes;  the  translator  abbreviates,  softens,  and  some- 
times, in  his  preface,  apologizes  for  what  he  retains.  Room  is 
found,  in  this  language,  only  for  a  portion  of  the  truth,  a  scanty 
portion,  and  which  constant  refining  daily  renders  still  more 
scanty.  Considered  in  itself,  the  classic  style  is  always  in  danger 
of  accepting  slight,  unsubstantial  commonplaces  for  its  materials. 
It  spins  them  out,  mingles  and  weaves  them  together;  only 
a  fragile  filigree,  however,  issues  from  its  logical  apparatus ;  we 
may  admire  the  elegant  workmanship ;  but  in  practice,  the  work 
is  of  little,  none,  or  dangerous  service. 

1  "  Shakespeare,  who  displayed  a  greater  variety  of  expression  than  probably  any  writer  in 
any  language,  produced  all  his  plays  with  about  15,000  words.  Milton's  works  are  built  up 
with  8,000;  and  the  Old  Testament  says  all  it  has  to  say  with  5,642  words."  (Max  Miiller, 
"I-ectures  on  the  Science  of  Language,"  I.  309.)  It  would  be  interesting  to  place  alongside 
of  this  Racine's  restricted  vocabulary.  That  of  Mine,  de  Scudery  is  extremely  limited.  In 
the  best  romance  of  the  XVIIth  century,  the  "Princesse  de  Cleves."  the  number  of  words 
Is  reduced  to  the  minimum.  The  Dictionary  of  the  old  French  Academy  contains  29,711 
words;  the  Greek  Thesaurus,  by  H.  Estienne,  contains  about  150,000. 

*  Compare  together  the  translation)  of  the  Bible  made  by  de  Sacy  and  Luther;  those  of 
Homer  by  Dacier,  BitaubS  and  Lewn-Ie  de  Lisle;  those  of  Herodotus,  by  Larcher  and 
Courrier,  the  popular  tales  of  Perrault  and  those  by  Grimm,  etc. 


UIAP.  ii.  THE  SrtfIT  AN9  THE  »9CTRINE.  193 

From  these  characteristics  of  style  we  divine  thost  of  the 
mind  for  which  it  serves  as  the  organ.  Two  principal  operations 
constitute  the  activity  of  the  human  understanding.  Placed  before 
objects,  it  receives  a  more  or  less  complete,  profound  and  exact 
impression  of  these;  and  after  this,  turning  away  from  them, 
it  analyzes  its  impression,  and  classifies,  distributes,  and  more  or 
less  skilfully  expresses  the  ideas  derived  from  them.  In  the  second 
of  these  operations  the  classicist  is  superior.  Obliged  to  adapt 
himself  to  his  audience,  that  is  to  say,  to  people  of  society  who 
are  not  specialists  and  yet  critical,  he  necessarily  carries  to  per- 
fection the  art  of  exciting  attention  and  of  being  understood, 
that  is  to  say,  the  art  of  composition  and  of  writing.  With 
patient  industry,  and  multiplied  precautions,  he  carries  the  reader 
along  with  him  by  a  series  of  easy  rectilinear  conceptions,  step  by 
step,  omitting  none,  beginning  with  the  lowest  and  thus  ascending 
to  the  highest,  always  progressing  with  steady  and  measured  pace, 
securely  and  agreeably  as  on  a  promenade.  No  interruption  or 
diversion  is  possible :  on  either  side,  along  the  road,  balustrades 
keep  him  within  bounds,  each  idea  extending  into  the  following 
one  by  such  an  insensible  transition,  that  he  involuntarily  ad- 
vances, without  stopping  or  turning  aside,  until  he  reaches  the 
final  truth  when  one  must  rest  oneself.  All  the  classic  literature 
bears  the  imprint  of  this  talent;  there  is  no  branch  of  it  into 
which  the  qualities  of  a  good  discourse  do  not  enter  and  form  a 
part.  It  is  paramount .  in  those  branches  which,  in  them- 
selves, are  only  half-literary,  but  which,  by  its  means,  become 
fully  so,  transforming  writings  into  fine  works  of  art  which  theii 
matter  would  seem  to  class  with  scientific  works,  with  the  instru 
mentalities  of  action,  with  historical  documents,  with  philosophical 
treatises,  with  doctrinal  expositions,  with  sermons,  polemics,  dis- 
sertations and  demonstrations,  even  with  dictionaries,  from 
Descartes  to  Condillac,  from  Bossuet  to  Buffon  and  Voltaire, 
from  Pascal  to  Rousseau  and  Beaumarchais,  in  short,  prose  al- 
most entirely,  even  official  despatches  and  diplomatic  correspon- 
dence, and  private  correspondence  from  Madame  de  SeVign6  to 
Madame  du  Deffant,  including  so  many  perfect  letters  escaping 
from  the  pens  of  women  who  never  thought  of  it.  It  is  paramount 
in  those  kinds  which,  in  themselves,  are  literary,  but  which  derive 
from  it  an  oratorical  turn.  Not  only  does  it  impose  a  rigid  plan, 
17 


194  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  in. 

a  regular  distribution  of  parts '  on  dramatic  works,  accurate 
proportions,  suppressions  and  connections,  a  sequence  and  a  prog- 
ress, as  in  a  passage  of  eloquence,  but  again  it  tolerates  only 
the  most  perfect  discourses.  There  is  no  character  that  is  not  an 
accomplished  orator;  with  Corneille  and  Racine,  with  Moliere 
h  Jnself,  the  confidant,  the  barbarian  king,  the  young  cavalier,  the 
drawing-room  coquette,  the  valet,  show  themselves  adepts  in  the 
use  of  language.  Never  have  we  encountered  such  adroit  exor- 
diums, such  well-arranged  evidence,  such  just  reflections,  such 
delicate  transitions,  such  conclusive  perorations.  Never  have 
dialogues  borne  such  a  strong  resemblance  to  oratorical  tilts. 
Each  narration,  each  piece  of  portraiture,  each  detail  of  action, 
might  be  detached  and  serve  as  a  model  example  for  school- 
boys along  with  the  masterpieces  of  the  antique  tribune.  So 
strong  is  this  tendency  that,  on  the  approach  of  the  final  moment, 
in  the  agony  of  death,  alone  and  without  witnesses,  a  character 
contrives  to  plead  his  own  frenzy  and  to  die  eloquently. 


II. 

This  excess  marks  a  defect  In  the  two  operations  which  the  hu- 
man mind  performs,  the  classicist  is  more  successful  in  the  second 
than  in  the  first.  The  second,  indeed,  stands  in  the  way  of  the  first, 
the  obligation  of  saying  things  perfectly  always  impeding  the  ut 
terance  of  what  should  be  said.  With  him  the  form  is  more 
admirable  than  the  matter  is  rich,  while  the  original  impres- 
sion which  animates  it  loses,  in  the  regular  channels  to 
which  it  is  confined,  its  force,  depth  and  impetuosity.  Poetry, 
properly  so  called,  the  outflow  of  reverie  and  of  insight,  is  an 
impossibility.  Lyric  poetry  proves  abortive  and  likewise  the  epic 
poem.8  Nothing  springs  up  on  these  remote  and  sublime  confines 
where  speech  is  in  accordance  with  music  and  painting.  Never  do 
we  hear  the  involuntary  outburst  of  vivid  impressions,  the  lonely 

'See  the  "Discours  acade'mique,"  ty  Racine,  on  the  reception  of  Thomas  Corneille: 
"In  this  chaos  of  dramatic  poetry  your  illustrious  brother  brought  reason  on  the  stage,  but 
reason  associated  with  all  the  pomp  and  the  ornamentation  our  language  is  capable  of." 

2  Voltaire,  "Essal  sur  le  poeme  6pique,"  290.  "It  must  be  admitted  that  a  Frenchman 
has  more  difficulty  in  writing  an  epic  poem  than  anybody  else.  .  .  .  Dare  I  confess  itt 
Our  own  is  the  least  poetic  of  all  polished  nations.  The  works  in  verse  the  most  highly 
esteemed  in  France  are  those  of  the  drama,  which  must  be  written  in  a  familiar  styte 
approaching  conversation." 


CHAP.  ii.  THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  DOCTRINE.  195 

confession  of  an  overcharged  soul,1  which  gives  itself  voice  only  for 
relief  and  expansion.  When  a  creation  of  characters  is  impera-  1 
tive,  as  in  dramatic  poetry,  the  classic  mould  fashions  but  one  spe- 
cies, those  which  through  education,  birth,  or  imitatively,  always 
speak  correctly,  in  other  words,  so  many  people  of  society.  No 
others  are  visible  on  the  stage  or  elsewhere,  from  Corneille  and 
Racine  to  Marivaux  and  Beaumarchais.  So  strong  is  the  yoke 
as  even  to  impose  itself  on  La  Fontaine's  animals,  on  the  servants 
and  valets  of  Moliere,  on  Montesquieu's  Persians,  and  on  the  I 
Babylonians,  the  Indians  and  the  Microme'gas  of  Voltaire.  It 
must  be  stated,  furthermore,  that  these  personages  are  only  partially 
real.  In  each  living  being  two  kinds  of  characteristics  are  found, 
the  first  not  numerous  or  common  to  all  individuals  of  its  class, 
and  which  any  reader  or  observer  may  readily  distinguish,  and 
the  second  in  large  number,  appertaining  to  it  alone,  and  not  to 
be  detected  without  some  effort.  Classic  art  concerns  itself  only 
with  the  former;  it  purposely  effaces,  neglects  or  subordinates  the 
latter.  Its  creations  are  not  veritable  individuals,  but  generalized 
characters,  a  king,  a  queen,  a  young  prince,  a  confidant,  a  high- 
priest,  a  captain  of  the  guards,  possessing  some  general  passion, 
habit  or  inclination,  such  as  love,  ambition,  fidelity  or  perfidy,  a 
despotic  or  a  yielding  temper,  some  species  of  wickedness  or  of 
native  goodness.  As  to  ^the  circumstances  of  time  and  place, 
which  exercise  the  most  powerful  influence  in  fashioning  and  di- 
versifying man,  it  scarcely  indicates  them,  making  an  abstraction 
of  them.  In  tragedy  the  scene  is  really  everywhere  and  of  all 
centuries,  the  opposite  affirmation  being  equally  true  that  it  is  no- 
where and  of  no  century.  It  consists  of  any  palace  or  of  any 
temple,2  in  which,  to  get  rid  of  all  historic  or  personal  impres- 
sions, habits  and  costumes  are  introduced  conventionally,  being 
neither  French  nor  foreign,  nor  ancient,  nor  modern.  In  this  ab- 
stract world  the  address  is  always  "you,"3  "Seigneur"  and  "  Mad- 

1  Except  in  the  "  Pens£es,"  by  Pascal,  a  few  notes  dotted  down  by  a  morbidly  exalted 
Christian  and  which  certainly,  in  the  perfected  work,  would  not  have  been  allowed  to  re- 
main as  they  are. 

*  See  in  the  Cabinet  of  Engravings  the  theatrical  costumes  of  the  middle  of  the  XVIIIth 
century.     Nothing  could  be  more  opposed  to  the  spirit  of  the  classic  drama  than  the  part* 
of  Ksther  and  Brittannicus,  as  they  are  played  nowadays,  in  the  accurate  costumes  and  with 
scenery  derived  from  late  discoveries  at  Pompeii  or  Ninevah. 

*  The  formality  which  this  indicates  will  be  understood  by  those  familiar  with  the  use  of 
the  pronoun  tkou  in  France,  denoting  intimacy  and  freedom  from  restraint  in  contrast  witb 
ceremonious  and  formal  intercourse.—  I'R. 


rg6  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  HI 

ame,"  the  noble  style  always  clothii.g  the  most  opposite  charac- 
ters with  the  same  draper^.  When  Corneillejind  Racine,  through 
the  stateliness  and  elegance  j>fjh.eir  verse,  afford  us  a  glimpse  of 
contemporary  figures  they"  do  it  unconsciously,  imagining  that 
they  are  portraying  man  in  himself;  and,  if  we  of  the  present 
e^  time  recognize  in  their  pieces  either  the  cavaliers,  the  duellists, 
the  bullies,  the  politicians  or  the  heroines  of  the  Fronde,  or  the 
courtiers,  princes  and  bishops,  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  in  wait- 
ing of  the  regular  monarchy,  it  is  owing  to  their  brush  having 
been  involuntarily  dipped  in  their  own  experience  and  some  of 
its  color  having  fallen  accidentally  on  the  bare  ideal  outline 
which  they  wished  to  trace.  We  have  simply  a  contour,  a  gen- 
eral sketch,  filled  up  with  the  harmonious  gray  tone  of  correct 
diction.  Even  in  comedy,  necessarily  portraying  surrounding 
habits,  even  with  Moliere,  so  frank  and  so  bold,  the  model  shows 
its  incompleteness,  all  individual  peculiarities  being  suppressed, 
the  face  becoming  for  a  moment  a  theatrical  mask,  and  the  per- 
sonage, especially  when  talking  in  verse,  sometimes  losing  its  an- 
imation in  becoming  the  speaking-trumpet  of  a  tirade  or  of  a  dis- 
sertation.1 The  stamp  of  rank,  condition  or  fortune,  whether 
gentleman  or  bourgeois,  provincial  or  Parisian,  is  frequently 
overlooked.2  We  are  rarely  made  to  appreciate  physical  exter- 
nals, as  in  Shakespeare — the  temperament,  the  state  of  the  ner- 
vous system,  the  bluff  or  drawling  tone,  the  impulsive  or  re- 
strained action,  the  emaciation  or  obesity  of  a  character.3  Fre- 
quently no  trouble  is  taken  to  find  a  suitable  name,  this  being 
either  Chrysale,  Orgon,  Damis,  Dorante,  or  Valere.  The  name 
designates  only  a  simple  quality,  that  of  a  father,  a  youth,  a 
valet,  a  grumbler,  a  gallant,  and,  like  an  ordinary  cloak,  fitting 
indifferently  all  forms  alike,  as  it  passes  from  the  wardrobe  of 
Moliere  to  that  of  Regnard,  Destouche,  Le  Sage  or  Marivaux.4 

1  See  the  parts  of  the  moralizers  and  reasoners  like  Cleante  in  "Tartuffe,"  Ariste  in  '  Lea 
Femmes  Savantes,"  Chrysale  in  "  L'Ecole  des  ferames,"  etc.  See  the  discussion  between 
the  two  brothers  in  "Le  Festin  de  Pierre,"  III.  5 ;  the  discourse  of  Ergaste  in  "  L'Ecole  des 
Maris  " ;  that  of  Eliante,  imitated  from  Lucretius  in  the  "  Misanthrope,"  II.  5 ;  the  portrai- 
ture, by  Dorine  in  "Tartuffe,"  I.  i;  the  portrait  of  the  hypocrite,  by  Don  Juan  in  "Le 
Festin  de  Pierre,"  V.  2. 

*  For  instance  the  parts  of  Harpagon  and  Arnolphe. 

*  We  see  this  in  Tartuffe,  but  only  through  an  expression  by  Dorine  and  not  directly.     Cf. 
in  Shakespeare,  the  parts  of  Coriolanus,  Hotspur,  FalstafF,  Othello,  Cleopatra,  etc. 

*  Balzac  passed  entire  days  in  reading  the  "Almanach  des  cent  mille  adresses,"  also  in  a 
cab  in  the  streets  during  the  afternoons,  examining  signs  for  the  purpose  of  finding  suitable 
names  for  his  characters.     This  ittle  circumstance  shows  the  difference  between  two  divers* 
conceptions  of  mankind. 


CHAP.  II.  THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  DOCTRINE.  19) 

The  character  lacks  the  personal  badge,  the  unique^aiithentic  ap-  ff 
pellation  serving  as  the  primary  sfanrrr?Jf  aB  individual  All  these 
details  and  circumstancgsTaTT these  aids  and  accompaniments  of  a 
man,  remain  outside  of  the  classic  theory.  To  secure  the  ad- 
mission of  some  of  them  required  the  genius  of  Moliere,  the 
fulness  of  his  conception,  the  wealth  of  his  observation,  the  ex- 
treme freedom  of  his  pen.  It  is  equally  true  again  that  he 
often  omits  them,  and  that,  in  other  cases,  he  introduces  only  a 
small  number  of  them  because  he  avoids  giving  to  these  general 
characters  a  richness  and  complexity  that  would  embarrass  the 
action.  The  simpler  the  theme  the  clearer  its  development, 
the  first  duty  of  the  author  throughout  this  literature  being  to 
clearly  develop  the  restricted  theme  of  which  he  makes  a  selection. 
There  is,  accordingly,  a  radical  defect  in  the  classic  spirit,  the 
defect  of  its  qualities,  and  which,  at  first  kept  within  proper 
bounds,  contributes  towards  the  production  of  its  purest  master- 
pieces, but  which,  in  accordance  with  the  universal  law,  goes  on 
increasing  and  turns  into  a  vice  through  the  natural  effect  of  age, 
use,  and  success.  Contracted  at  the  start,  it  is  to  become  yet  more 
so.  In  the  eighteenth  century  the  portrayal  of  living  realities, 
an  actual  individual,  just  as  he  is  in  nature  and  in  history,  that  is 
to  say,  an  undefined  unit,  a  rich  plexus,  a  complete  organism  of 
peculiarities  and  traits,  superposed,  commingled  and  co-ordinated, 
is  improper.  The  capacity  to  receive  and  contain  all  these  is 
wanting.  Whatever  can  be  discarded  is  cast  aside,  and  to  such 
an  extent  that  nothing  is  left  at  last  but  a  condensed  extract,  an 
evaporated  residuum,  an  almost  empty  name,  in  short,  what  is 
called  a  hollow  abstraction.  The  only  characters  in  the  eigh- 
teenth century  exhibiting  any  life  are  the  off-hand  sketches,  made 
in  passing  and  as  if  contraband,  by  Voltaire, — Baron  de  Thun- 
dertentronk  and  Milord  Watthen, — the  lesser  figures  in  his 
stories,  and  five  or  six  portraits  of  secondary  rank, — lurcaret,  / 
Gil  Bias,  Marianne,  Manon  Lescaut,  Rameau,  and  Figaros-two 
or  three  of  the  rough  sketches  of  Crebillon  the  younger  and  of 
Colle,  all  so  many  works  in  which  sap  flows  through  a  familial 
knowledge  of  things,  comparable  with  those  of  the  minor  masters 
in  painting, — Watteau,  Fragonard,  Saint-Aubin,  Moreau,  Lan- 
cret,  Pater,  and  Beaudouin, — and  which,  accepted  with  dif- 
ficulty, in  the  official  safon,  or  getting  in  unawares,  are  still 
to  subsist  after  the  grander  and  soberer  canvases  shall  have 
17* 


198  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  in. 

become  mouldy  through  the  ennui  they  exhale.  Every- 
where else  the  sap  dries  up,  and,  instead  of  blooming  plants, 
we  encounter  only  wall-paper  flowers.  What  are  all  the 
\  serious  poems,  from  the  "  Henriade  "  of  Voltaire  to  the  "  Mois " 
v  1  by  Roucher  or  the  "  Imagination  "  by  Delille,  but  so  many  pieces 
of  rhetoric  garnished  with  rhymes?  Examine  the  innumerable 
'  tragedies  and  comedies  of  which  Grimm  and  Colle  give  us  mort- 
uary extracts,  even  the  meritorious  works  of  Voltaire  and  Cr6- 
billon,  and  later,  those  of  authors  of  repute,  Du  Belloy,  La 
Harpe,  Ducis,  and  Marie  Ch6nier  ?  Eloquence,  art,  situations, 
correct  verse,  all  exist  in  these  except  human  nature ;  the  per- 
sonages are  simply  well-taught  puppets,  and  generally  mere 
mouthpieces  by  which  the  author  makes  his  declamation  public; 
Greeks,  Romans,  mediaeval  knights,  Turks,  Arabs,  Peruvians, 
Giaours,  or  Byzantines,  all  form  the  same  declamatory  mechanism. 
The  public,  meanwhile,  betrays  no  surprise.  It  does  not  possess 
the  historic  sentiment.  It  accepts  humanity  as  everywhere  the 
same.  It  establishes  the  success  alike  of  the  "Incas"  by  Mar- 
montel,  that  of  "Gonsalve"  and  of  the  "Nouvelles"  by  Florian, 
also  of  the  peasants,  mechanics,  negroes,  Brazilians,  Parsees,  and 
Malabarites  that  appear  before  it  uttering  their  amplifications. 
Man  is  simply  regarded  as  a  reasoning  being,  alike  in  all  ages 
and  alike  in  all  places;  Bernardin  de  Saint- Pierre  endows  his 
pariah  with  this  habit,  also  Diderot,  in  his  Otaheitians.  The 
one  recognized  principle  is  that  every  human  being  must  think 
and  talk  like  a  book. 

Accordingly,  how  inadequate  are  historical  productions ! 
With  the  exception  of  Charles  XII.,  a  contemporary  on  whom 
Voltaire  bestows  fresh  life,  through  the  accounts  of  him  by  eye- 
witnesses, also  his  spirited  sketches  of  Englishmen,  Frenchmen, 
Spaniards,  Italians  and  Germans,  scattered  through  his  stories, 
where  are  men  found?  With  Hume,  Gibbon  and  Robertson, 
belonging  to  the  French  school,  and  who  are  at  once  adopted 
in  France,  in  the  researches  into  our  middle  ages  of  Dubos  and 
of  Mably,  in  the  "  Louis  XI."  of  Duclos,  in  the  "  Anacharsis  '• 
of  Barthe'lemy,  even  in  the  "Essai  sur  les  Mceurs,"  and  in  the 
"  Siecle  de  Louis  XIV."  of  Voltaire,  even  in  the  "  Grandeur  des 
Remains  "  and  in  the  "  Esprit  des  Lois  "  of  Montesquieu,  what 
remarkable  incompleteness!  Eiudition,  criticism,  common  sense. 
an  almost  exact  exposition  of  dogmas  and  of  institutions,  philo- 


CHAP.  ii.         THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  DOCTRINE.  199 

sophic  views  of  the  relation  of  events  and  on  the  general  course 
of  things,  nothing  is  wanting  but  souls  !  It  seems,  on  reading 
them,  that  the  climates,  institutions  and  civilization  which  com- 
pletely transform  the  human  mind,  are  for  it  merely  so  many 
externals  or  accidental  envelopes,  which,  far  from  reaching 
down  to  the  depths,  scarcely  go  below  the  surface.  The  pro- 
digiousjlifference  which  separates  the  men  of  two  centuries, 
or  of  two  races,  escapes,  them  entirely.1  The  ancient 
Greek,  the  early  Christian,  the  conquering  Teuton,  the  feudal 
man,  the  Arab  of  Mahomet,  the  German,  the  Renaissance  En- 
glishman, the  puritan,  appear  in  their  books  about  the  same  as 
in  engravings  and  frontispieces,  with  some  difference  in  cos- 
tume, but  the  same  in  form,  feature  and  expression,  attenuated, 
faded  and  respectable,  and  adapted  to  the  conventionalities  of 
good-breeding.  That  sympathetic  imagination  by  which  the 
writer  enters  into  the  mind  of  another,  and  reproduces  in 
himself  a  system  of  habits  and  feelings  opposed  to  his  own,  is  the 
talent  the  most  wanting  in  the  eighteenth  century.  With  the 
exception  of  jDiderot,  who  uses  it  badly  and  capriciously,  it  al- 
most entirely  disappears  in  the  last  half  of  the  century.  Con- 
sider in  turn,  during  the  same  period,  in  France  and  in  England, 
where  it  is  most  extensively  used,  the  romance,  a  sort  of  mirror 
everywhere  transportable,  the  best  adapted  to  reflect  all  phases 
of  nature  and  of  life.  After  reading  the  series  of  English  novel- 
ists, Defoe,  Richardson,  Fielding,  Smollett,  Sterne,  and  Gold- 
smith down  to  Miss  Burney  and  Miss  Austen,  I  am  familiar  with 
England  in  the  eighteenth  century ;  I  have  encountered  clergy- 
men, country  gentlemen,  farmers,  innkeepers,  sailors,  people  of 
every  condition  in  life,  high  and  low ;  I  know  the  details  of  fort- 
unes and  of  careers,  how  much  is  earned,  how  much  is  expended, 
how  journeys  are  made  and  how  people  eat  and  drink :  I  have 
accumulated  for  myself  a  file  of  precise  biographical  events,  a 
complete  picture  in  a  thousand  scenes  of  an  entire  community, 
the  amplest  stock  of  information  to  guide  me  should  I  wish  tc 
frame  a  history  of  this  vanished  world.  On  reading  a  corres- 
ponding list  of  French  novelists,  the  younger  Crebillon,  Rous- 

"  At  the  present  day,  whatever  may  be  said,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  Frenchmen,  Ger- 
mans, Spaniards,  and  Englishmen,  for  all  are  Europeans.  All  have  the  same  tastes,  the 
same  passions,  the  s  tine  habits,  none  having  obtained  a  national  form  through  any  specific 
Institution."  Rousseau,  "Sur  le  gouvernement  de  Pologne,"  770. 


200  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  in 

seau,  Marmontel,  Laclos,  Restif  de  la  Breton,  Louvet,  Madame 
de  Stael,  Madame  de  Genlis  and  the  rest,  including  Mercier  and 

!  even  Mme.  Cottin,  I  scarcely  take  any  notes ;  all  precise  and  in- 
structive little  facts  are  left  out ;  I  find  civilities,  polite  acts,  gal- 
lantries, mischief-making,  social  dissertations  and  nothing  else. 
They  carefully  abstain  from  mentioning  money,  from  giving  me 
figures,  from  describing  a  wedding,  a  trial,  the  administration  of 
a  piece  of  property ;  I  am  ignorant  of  the  situation  of  a  curate, 
.  of  a  rustic  noble,  of  a  resident  prior,  of  a  steward,  of  an  intend- 
ant.  Whatever  relates  to  a  province  or  to  the  rural  districts,  to 
the  bourgeoisie  or  to  the  shop,1  to  the  army  or  to  a  soldier,  to  the 
clergy  or  to  convents,  to  justice  or  to  the  police,  to  business  or  to 
housekeeping  remains  vaguely  in  my  mind  or  is  falsified;  to  clear 
up  any  point  I  am  obliged  to  recur  to  that  marvellous  Voltaire 
who,  on  laying  aside  the  great  classic  coat,  finds  plenty  of  elbow 
room  and  tells  all.  On  the  organs  of  society  of  vital  importance, 
on  the  practices  and  regulations  that  provoke  revolutions,  on  feudal 
rights  and  seigniorial  justice,  on  the  mode  of  recruiting  and  gov- 
erning monastic  bodies,  on  the  revenue  measures  of  the  prov- 
inces, on  corporations  and  on  trade-unions,  on  the  tithes  and 
the  corvees?  literature  provides  me  with  scarcely  any  information. 
Drawing-rooms  and  men  of  letters  are  apparently  its  sole  ma- 

|  terial.  The  rest  is  null  and  void.  Under  the  good  society  that 
is  able  to  converse  France  appears  perfectly  empty.  On  the  ar- 
rival of  the  Revolution  the  elimination  increases.  Glance  over 
the  harangues  of  the  clubs  and  of  the  tribune,  over  reports,  leg- 
islative bills  and  pamphlets,  and  through  the  mass  of  writings 
prompted  by  passing  and  exciting  events,  in  none  of  them  do  we 
see  any  sign  of  the  human  creature  as  we  see  him  in  the  fields 
and  in  the  street ;  he  is  always  regarded  as  a  simple  automaton, 
a  well-known  mechanism.  Among  writers  he  was  but  lately  re- 
garded as  a  speaking  automaton ;  with  politicians  he  is  now  a 
voting  automaton ;  touch  him  in  the  proper  place  and  he  re- 
sponds in  the  desired  manner.  Facts  are  never  apparent;  only 
abstractions,  long  arrays  of  sentences  on  nature,  reason,  and  the 

1  Previous  to  1750  we  find  something  about  these  in  "Gil-Bias,"  and  in  "Marianne," 
(Mme.  Dufour  the  sempstress  and  her  shop).  Unfortunately  the  Spanish  travesty  prevent* 
the  novels  of  Le  Sage  from  being  as  instructive  as  they  might  be. 

*  Interesting  details  are  found  in  the  little  stories  by  Diderot  as,  for  instance,  "Les  deu» 
amis  de  Bourbonne."  But  elsewhere  he  is  a  partisan,  especially  in  the  "Religieuse."  an<? 
conveys  a  false  impression  of  tilings. 


CHAP.  II.  THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  DOCTRINE.  201 

people,  on  tyrants  and  liberty,  like  inflated  balloons,  uselessly 
conflicting  with  each  other  in  space.  Were  we  not  aware  that 
all  this  had  terminated  in  terrible  practical  effects  we  should  re- 
gard it  as  so  much  logical  sportiveness,  as  school  exercises,  or 
academic  parades,  or  ideological  compositions.  Ideology  the  last 
emanation  of  the  century,  is,  in  effect,  about  to  give  of  the  classic 
spirit  the  final  formula  and  the  last  word. 

III. 

To  pursue  in  every  research,  with  the  utmost  confidence,  with- 
out either  reserve  or  precaution,  the  mathematical  method;  to 
derive,  limit  and  isolate  a  few  of  the  simplest  generalized  no 
tions;  and  then,  setting  experience  aside,  comparing  them,  com- 
bining them,  and,  from  the  artificial  compound  thus  obtained, 
deducing  all  the  consequences  they  involve  by  pure  reasoning, 
is  the  natural  process  of  the  classic  spirit.  It  is  so  deeply  im- 
planted as  to  be  equally  encountered  in  both  centuries,  as  well 
with  Descartes,  Malebranche 1  and  the  partisans  of  innate  ideas  as 
with  the  partisans  of  sensation,  of  physical  needs  and  of  primary 
instinct,  Condillac,  Rousseau,  Helvetius,  and,  later,  Condorcet, 
Volney,  Sieyes,  Cabanis  and  Destutt  de  Tracy.  In  vain  do  the 
latter  assert  that  they  are  the  followers  of  Bacon  and  reject 
innate  ideas;  with  another  starting  point  than  the  Cartesians 
they  pursue  the  same  path  and,  as  with  the  Cartesians,  after 
borrowing  a  little,  they  leave  experience  behind  them.  In  this 
vast  moral  and  social  world,  they  only  remove  the  superficial 
bark  from  the  human  tree  with  its  innumerable  roots  and 
branches ;  they  are  unable  to  penetrate  to  or  grasp  at  anything 
beyond  it;  their  hands  cannot  contain  more.  They  have  no 
suspicion  of  anything  outside  of  it;  the  classic  spirit,  with  limited 
comprehension,  is  not  far-reaching.  To  them  the  bark  is  the 
entire  tree  and,  the  operation  once  completed,  they  retire,  bear- 
ing along  with  them  the  dry,  dead  epidermis,  never  returning  to 
the  trunk  itself.  Through  intellectual  incapacity  and  literary 

1  "To  attain  to  the  truth  we  have  only  to  fix  our  attention  on  the  ideas  which  each  one 
finds  within  his  own  mind."  (Malebranche,  "Recherche  de  la  VeriteV'  book  I.  ch.  i.) 
"Those  long  chains  of  reasoning,  all  simple  and  easy,  which  geometers  use  to  arrive  at  theii 
most  difficult  demonstrations,  suggested  to  me  that  all  things  which  come  within  human 
knowledge  must  follow  each  ether  in  a  similar  chjin."  Lewes,  (Descartes,  "Discours  de  la 
Methode,"  I.  142).  In  the  eighteenth  century  A  priori  ideas  were  employed,  in  the  eigh. 
teeuth  century  sensations,  but  always  following  the  same  mathematical  method  fully  dis 
played  in  the  "Ethics"  of  Spinoza. 


202  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  m. 

pride  they  omit  the  characteristic  detail,  the  animating  fact,  the 
specific  circumstance,  the  significant,  convincing  and  complete 
example.  Scarcely  one  of  these  is  found  in  the  "  Logique  "  and 
in  the  "Traite  des  Sensations"  by  Condillac,  in  the  "Ideologic" 
by  Destutt  de  Tracy,  or  in  the  "Rapports  du  Physique  et  du 
Morale  "  by  Cabanis.1  Never,  with  them,  are  we  on  the  solid 
and  visible  ground  of  personal  observation  and  narration,  but 
always  in  the  air,  in  the  empty  space  of  pure  generalities.  Con- 
dillac declares  that  the  arithmetical  method  is  adapted  to  psy- 
chology and  that  the  elements  of  our  ideas  can  be  defined  by  a 
process  analogous  "to  the  rule  of  three."  Sieyes  holds  history 
in  profound  contempt,  and  believes  that  he  had  "perfected  the 
science  of  politics"2  at  one  stroke,  through  an  effort  of  the 
brain,  in  the  style  of  Descartes,  who  thus  discovered  analytic 
geometry.  Destutt  de  Tracy,  in  undertaking  to  comment  on 
Montesquieu,  finds  that  the  great  historian  has  too  servilely  con- 
fined himself  to  history,  and  attempts  to  do  the  work  over  again 
by  organizing  society  as  it  should  be,  instead  of  studying  society 
as  it  is.  Never  were  such  systematic  and  superficial  institutions 
built  up  with  such  a  moderate  extract  of  human  nature.  Con- 
dillac, employing  sensation,  animates  a  statue,  and  then,  by  a 
process  of  pure  reasoning,  following  up  its  effects,  as  he  supposes, 
on  smell,  taste,  hearing,  sight  and  touch,  fashions  a  complete 
human  soul.  Rousseau,  by  means  of  a  contract,  founds  political 
association,  and,  with  this  given  idea,  he  deduces  the  constitu- 
tion, government  and  laws  of  every  system  of  social  equity.  In 
a  book  which  serves  as  the  philosophical  testament  of  the 
century,3  Condorcet  declares  that  this  method  is  "  the  final  step 
of  philosophy,  that  which  places  a  sort  of  eternal  barrier  between 
humanity  and  its  ancient  infantile  errors."  "  In  its  application 
to  morals,  politics  and  political  economy  "  we  succeed  in  obtain- 
ing a  foothold  in  the  moral  sciences  "  as  certain  as  in  the  natural 
sciences  ;  through  it  we  have  been  able  to  discover  the  rights 
of  man."  As  in  mathematics,  these  are  deduced  from  one  fun- 

1  See  especially  his  memoir :  "  De  1'influence  du  climat  sur  les  habitudes  morales,"  vague, 
Mid  wholly  barren  of  illustrations  excepting  one  citation  from  Hippocrates. 

a  These  are  his  own  words.  He  adds  elsewhere,  "There  is  no  more  reality  in  assumed 
historical  truths  than  in  assumed  religious  truths."  ("  Papicrs  de  Sieyes,"  the  year  1772. 
according  to  Sainte-Beuve,  "Causeries  du  lundi,"  V.  194).  Descartes  and  Malebranch* 
already  expressed  this  contempt  for  history. 

*  Condorcet,  "  Esouisse  d'un  tableau  histr>riqi:e  de  1'esprit  humain,"  ninth  epoch 


<HAP.  n.          THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  DOCTRINE.  203 

damental  proposition,  which  proposition,  similar  to  a  first  princi- 
ple in  mathematics,  becomes  a  fact  of  daily  experience,  verified 
by  everybody  and  therefore  self-evident.  This  school  is  to  sub- 
sist throughout  the  Revolution,  the  Empire  and  even  into  the 
Restoration,1  along  with  the  tragedy  of  which  it  is  the  sister,  with 
the  classic  spirit  their  common  parent,  a  primordial,  soveieigu 
power  as  hurtful  as  it  is  useful,  as  destructive  as  it  is  creative,  as 
capable  of  propagating  error  as  truth,  as  astonishing  in  the 
rigidity  of  its  code,  in  the  burdensomeness  of  its  yoke,  and  in 
the  uniformity  of  its  works,  as  in  the  duration  of  its  reign  and 
the  universality  of  its  ascendency. 

1  See  the  "  Tableau  historique,"  presented  to  the  Institute  by  Chewier  in  1808,  showing 
by  its  statements  that  the  classic  spirit  still  prevails  in  all  branches  of  literature.  Cabanis 
died  in  1818,  Volney  in  1820,  de  Tracy  and  Sieyes  in  1836,  Dauncn  in  1848.  In  May,  1845, 
Saphary  and  V alette  are  still  professors  of  Condillac's  philosophy  in  the  two  lycies  in  Paris. 


CHAPTER  III. 

COMBINATION  OF  THE  TWO  ELEMENTS.— I.  The  doctrine,  its  pretensions 
and  its  character. — A  new  authority  for  reason  in  the  regulation  of  human 
affairs. — Government  thus  far  traditional. — II.  Origin,  nature  and  value  of 
hereditary  prejudice. — How  far  custom,  religion  and  government  are  legiti- 
mate.— III.  The  classic  intellect  incapable  of  accepting  this  point  of  view. — 
The  past  and  present  titles  of  tradition  misunderstood. — Reason  undertakes 
to  set  them  aside. — IV.  Two  stages  in  this  operation. — Voltaire,  Montesquieu, 
the  deists  and  the  reformers  represent  the  first  one. — What  they  destroy  and 
what  they  respect. — V.  The  second  stage,  a  return  to  nature. — Diderot, 
d'Holbach  and  the  materialists, — Theory  of  animated  matter  and  spontaneous 
organization. — The  moral  of  animal  instinct  and  self-interest  properly  under- 
stood.— VI.  Rousseau  and  the  spiritualists. — The  original  goodness  of  man. 
— The  mistake  committed  by  civilization. — The  injustice  of  property  and  of 
society. — VII.  The  forlorn  hope  of  the  philosophic  party. — Naigeon,  Sylvain 
Mare"chal,  Mably,  Morelly. — The  entire  discredit  of  traditions  and  institu- 
tions derived  from  it. 

I. 

OUT  of  the  scientific  acquisitions  thus  set  forth,  elaborated  by 
the  spirit  we  have  just  described,  is  born  a  doctrine  seemingly  a  rev- 
elation and  which,  under  this  title,  assumes  to  regulate  the  govern- 
ment of  human  affairs.  On  the  approach  of  1789  it  is  generally 
admitted  that  man  is  living  in  "  a  century  of  light,"  in  "  the  age 
of  reason ;  "  that,  previously,  the  human  species  was  in  its  infancy 
and  that  now  it  has  attained  to  its  "  majority."  Truth,  finally,  is 
made  manifest  and,  for  the  first  time,  its  reign  on  earth  is  apparent. 
Its  right  is  supreme,  since  it  is  truth  itself.  Everybody  must  be 
ruled  by  it,  for,  in  its  nature,  it  is  universal.  The  philosophy 
of  the  eighteenth  century,  in  these  two  articles  of  faith,  resembles 
a  religion,  the  puritanism  of  the  seventeenth  century,  and  Ma- 
hometanism  in  the  seventh  century.  We  see  the  same  outburst 
of  faith,  hope  and  enthusiasm,  the  same  spirit  of  propagandism 
and  of  dominion,  the  same  rigidity  and  intolerance,  the  same 
ambition  to  recast  man  and  to  remodel  human  life  according  to 


CHAP.  in.          THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  DOCTRINE.  205 

a  preconceived  type.  The  new  doctrine  is  also  to  have  its  doctors, 
its  dogmas,  its  popular  catechism,  its  fanatics,  its  inquisitors  and 
its  martyrs.  It  is  to  speak  as  loudly  as  those  preceding  it,  as 
a  legitimate  authority  to  which  dictatorship  belongs  by  right  of 
birth,  and  against  which  rebellion  is  criminal  or  insane.  It  differs, 
however,  from  the  preceding  religions  in  this  respect,  that  instead 
of  imposing  itself  in  the  name  of  God,  it  imposes  itself  in  the 
name  of  Reason. 

The  authority,  indeed,  was  a  new  one.  Up  to  this  time,  in  the 
control  of  human  actions  and  opinions,  reason  had  played  but  a 
small  and  subordinate  part.  Both  the  motive  and  its  direction 
were  obtained  elsewhere;  faith  and  obedience  were  an  inherit- 
ance; a  man  was  a  Christian  and  a  subject  because  he  was  born 
Christian  and  subject.  Surrounding  this  budding  philosophy  and 
the  reason  which  enters  upon  its  great  investigation,  is  a  system 
of  recognized  laws,  an  established  power,  a  reigning  religion ;  all 
the  stones  of  this  structure  hold  together  and  each  story  is  sup- 
ported by  a  preceding  story.  But  what  does  the  common 
cement  consist  of  and  what  is  its  first  foundation  ?  Who  author- 
izes all  these  civil  regulations  which  control  marriages,  testa- 
ments, inheritances,  contracts,  property  and  persons,  these  fanci- 
ful and  often  contradictory  regulations?  In  the  first  place  im- 
memorial custom,  varying  according  to  the  province,  according 
to  the  title  to  the  soil,  according  to  the  quality  and  condition  of 
the  person ;  and  next,  the  will  of  the  king  who  caused  the  cus- 
tom to  be  inscribed  and  who  sanctioned  it.  Who  authorizes  this 
will,  this  sovereignty  of  the  prince,  this  first  of  public  powers  ? 
In  the  first  place,  eight  centuries  of  possession,  a  hereditary  right 
similar  to  that  by  which  each  one  enjoys  his  own  field  and  do- 
main, a  property  established  in  a  family  and  transmitted  from  one 
eldest  son  to  another,  from  the  first  founder  of  the  State  to  his 
last  living  successor ;  and,  in  addition  to  this,  a  religion  directing 
men  to  submit  to  the  constituted  powers.  And  who,  finally,  au- 
thorizes this  religion  ?  At  first,  eighteen  centuries  of  tradition,  { 
the  immense  series  of  anterior  and  concordant  proofs,  the  steady  ' 
belief  of  sixty  preceding  generations;  and  after  this,  at  the 
beginning  of  it,  the  presence  and  teachings  of  Christ,  then,  far 
ther  back,  the  creation  of  the  world,  the  command  and  the  voice 
of  God.  Thus,  throughout  the  moral  and  social  order  of  things 
the  past  justifies  the  present ;  antiquity  provides  its  title  and  if, 
18 


206  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  in, 

beneath  all  these  supports  which  age  has  consolidated,  the  deep 
primitive  rock  is  sought  for  in  subterranean  depths,  we  find  it  in 
the  divine  will.  During  the  whole  of  the  seventeenth  century 
cnis  thecry  still  absorbs  all  souls  in  the  shape  of  a  fixed  habit  ana 
of  inward  respect ;  it  is  not  open  to  question.  It  is  regarded  in 
the  same  light  as  the  heart  of  the  living  body;  whoever  would 
lay  his  hand  upon  it  would  instantly  draw  back,  moved  by  a 
vague  sentiment  of  its  ceasing  to  beat  in  case  it  were  touched. 
The  most  independent,  with  Descartes  at  the  head,  "would  be 
grieved"  at  being  confounded  with  those  chimerical  speculators 
who,  instead  of  pursuing  the  beaten  track  of  custom,  dart  blindly 
forward  "across  mountains  and  over  precipices."  In  subjecting 
their  belief  to  systematic  investigation  not  only  do  they  except 
and  set  aside  "  the  truths  of  faith," l  but  again  the  dogma  they 
suppose  to  have  been  discarded  remains  in  their  mind  latent  and 
effective,  to  lead  them  on  without  their  knowledge  and  to  con 
vert  their  philosophy  into  a  preparation  for,  or  a  confirmation 
of,  Christianity.2  Summing  it  all  up,  faith,  the  performance  of  re- 
ligious duties,  with  religious  and  political  institutions,  provide  the 
mother  ideas  of  the  seventeenth  century.  Reason,  whether  she 
admits  it  or  is  ignorant  of  it,  is  only  a  subaltern,  an  oratorical 
agency,  a  setter-in-motion,  forced  by  religion  and  the  monarchy 
to  labor  in  their  behalf.  With  the  exception  of  La  Fontaine, 

WVMMMMOVMMM* 

whom  I  regard  as  unique  in  this  as  in  other  matters,  the  greatest 
and  most  independent,  Pascal,  Descartes,  Bossuet,  La  Bru- 
yere,  derive  from  the  established  system  their  first  conception 
of  nature,  of  man,  of  society,  of  right  and  of  government.3 
So  long  as  reason  is  limited  to  this  function  its  work  is  that  of  a 
councillor  of  State,  an  extra  preacher  which  its  superiors  despatch 
on  a  missionary  tour  in  the  departments  of  philosophy  and  of 
literature  Far  from  proving  destructive  it  consolidates ;  in  fine, 
even  do\*n  to  the  Regency,  its  chief  employment  is  to  produce 
good  Christians  and  loyal  subjects. 

1  "Discours  de  la  Methode." 

*  This  is  evident  with  Descartes  in  the  second  step  he  takes.  (The  theory  of  pure  spirit. 
the  idea  of  God,  the  proof  of  his  existence,  the  veracity  of  our  intelligence  demonstrated  by 
the  veracity  of  God,  etc.) 

3  See  Pascal,  "  Pensees"  (on  the  origin  of  property  and  rank).  The  "  Provinciates"  (on 
homicide  and  the  right  to  kill).  Nicole,  "Deuxieme  traitS  de  la  charit£,  et  de  1'amour 
propre"  (on  the  natural  man  and  the  object  of  society).  Bossuet,  "Politique  tiree  de 
I'Ecriture  sainte."  La  Bruyere, "  Des  Esprits  forts." 


CHAP.  in.          THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  DOCTRINE.  207 

But  here  the  parts  become  inverted;  tradition  desceLds  from 
the  upper  to  the  lower  rank  while  reason  ascends  from  the  lat- 
ter to  the  former.  On  the  one  hand  religion  and  the  monarchy, 
through  their  excesses  and  misdeeds  under  Louis  XIV.,  and  their 
laxity  and  incompetency  under  Louis  XV.,  demolish  piece 
by  piece  the  basis  of  hereditary  reverence  and  filial  obedience 
so  long  serving  them  as  a  foundation  and  which  maintained 
them  aloft  above  all  dispute  and  free  of  investigation;  hence  I 
the  authority  of  tradition  insensibly  declines  and  disappears.  On  | 
the  other  hand  science,  through  its  imposing  and  multiplied  dis- 
coveries, erects  piece  by  piece  a  basis  of  universal  trust  and  def- 
erence, raising  itself  up  from  an  interesting  subject  of  curiosity 
to  the  rank  of  a  public  power ;  hence  the  authority  of  reason  aug- 
ments and  occupies  its  place.  A  time  comes  when,  the  latter 
authority  having  dispossessed  the  former,  the  mother  ideas  tradi- 
tion had  reserved  to  itself  fall  into  the  grasp  of  reason.  Investi- 
gation penetrates  into  the  forbidden  sanctuary.  Instead  of 
deference  there  is  verification,  and  religion,  the  state,  thejaw, 
custom,  all  th^  organs,  in  short,  of  moral  and  practical  life,  be- 
come subject  to  analysis,  to  be  preserved,  restored  or  replaced, 
according  to  the  prescriptions  of  the  new  doctrine. 

II. 

Nothing  could  be  better  had  the  doctrine  been  complete  and 
had  reason,  instructed  by  history  and  rendered  critical,  been  quali- 
fied to  comprehend  the  rival  she  replaced.  For  then,  instead  of 
regarding  her  as  an  usurper  to  be  repelled  she  would  have  recog- 
nized in  her  an  elder  sister  whose  part  must  be  left  to  her. 
Hereditary  prejudice  is  a  sort  of  reason  operating  unconsciously. 
It  has  claims  as  well  as  reason,  but  it  is  unable  to  present 
these;  instead  of  advancing  those  that  are  authentic  it  puts 
forth  the  doubtful  ones.  Its  archives  are  buried;  to  exhume 
these  it  is  necessary  to  make  researches  of  which  it  is  incapable ; 
nevertheless  they  exist,  and  history  at  the  present  day  is  bring- 
ing them  to  light.  Careful  investigation  shows  that,  like  sci- 
ence, it  issues  from  a  long  accumulation  of  experiences:  men, 
after  a  multitude  of  gropings  and  efforts,  have  satisfied  themselves 
that  a  certain  way  of  living  and  thinking  is  the  only  one  adapted 
to  their  situation,  the  most  practical  and  the  most  salutary,  the 
system  or  dogma  now  seeming  arbitrary  to  us  being  at  firsj 


*o8  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  HI 

a  confirmed  expedient  of  public  safety.  Frequently  it  is  so 
still;  in  any  event,  in  its  leading  features,  it  is  indispensable;  it 
may  be  stated  with  certainty  that,  if  the  leading  prejudices  of 
the  community  should  suddenly  disappear,  man,  deprived  of  the 
precious  legacy  transmitted  to  him  by  the  wisdom  of  ages,  would 
at  once  fall  back  into  a  savage  condition  and  again  become  what 
he  was  at  first,  namely,  a  restless,  famished,  wandering,  hunted 
brute.  There  was  a  time  when  this  heritage  was  lacking;  there 
are  populations  to-day  with  which  it  is  still  utterly  lacking.1  To 
abstain  from  eating  human  flesh,  from  killing  useless  or  burden- 
some aged  people,  from  exposing,  selling  or  killing  children  one 
does  not  know  what  to  do  with,  to  be  the  one  husband  of  but 
one  woman,  to  hold  in  horror  incest  and  unnatural  practices,  to 
be  the  sole  and  recognized  owner  of  a  distinct  field,  to  be  mind- 
ful of  the  superior  injunctions  of  modesty,  humanity,  honor  and 
conscience,  all  these  observances,  formerly  unknown  and  slowly 
established,  compose  the  civilization  of  human  beings.  Because 
we  accept  them  in  full  security  they  are  not  the  less  sacred,  and 
they  become  only  the  more  sacred  when,  submitted  to  investiga- 
tion and  traced  through  history,  they  are  disclosed  to  us  as  the  se- 
cret force  which  has  converted  a  herd  of  brutes  into  a  society  of 
men.  In  general,  the  older  and  more  universal  a  custom,  the 
more  it  is  based  on  profound  motives,  on  physiological  motives 
on  those  of  hygiene,  and  on  the  precautions  taken  by  society. 
At  one  time,  as  in  the  separation  of  castes,  a  heroic  or 
thoughtful  race  must  be  preserved  by  preventing  the  mixtures 
by  which  inferior  blood  introduces  mental  debility  and  low  in- 
stincts.2 At  another,  as  in  the  prohibition  of  spirituous  liquors, 
and  of  animal  food,  it  is  necessary  to  conform  to  the  climate  pre- 
scribing a  vegetable  diet  or  to  the  racial  temperament  for  which 
strong  drink  is  pernicious.3  At  another,  as  in  the  institution  of 
the  right  of  primogeniture,  it  was  important  to  prepare  and  desig- 
nate beforehand  the  military  commander  which  the  tribe  would 
obey,  or  the  civil  chieftain  that  would  preserve  the  domain,  super- 

1  Cf.  Sir  John  Lubbock,  "Early  Civilization."       Grand-Teulon,  "Les  Origines  de  la 
fkmille." 

*  The  principle  of  caste  In  India;  we  see  this  in  the  contrast  between  the  Aryjns  and  th« 
iborigines,  the  Soudras  and  the  pariahs. 

*  In  accordance  with  this  principle  the  inhabitants  of  the  Sandwich  Islands  passed  a  law 
forbidding  the  sale  of  liquor  to  the  natives  rod  allowing  it  to  Europeans.     (De  Varignw 
"  Quatorze  ans  a  ox  iles  Sandwich.") 


CHAi'.  nr.          THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  DOCTRINE.  209 

intend  its  cultivation,  and  support  the  family.1  If  there  are  valid 
reasons  for  legitimating  custom  there  are  reasons  of  higher  un- 
port  for  the  consecration  of  religion.  Consider  this  point,  not  in 
general  and  according  to  a  vague  notion,  but  at  the  outset,  at  its 
birth,  in  the  texts,  taking  for  an  example  one  of  the  faiths  which 
now  rule  in  society,  Christianity,  brahminism,  the  law  of  Ma- 
homet or  of  Buddha.  At  certain  critical  moments  in  history,  a 
few  men,  emerging  from  their  narrow  and  daily  routine  of  life, 
form  some  generalized  conception  of  the  infinite  universe;  the 
august  face  of  nature  is  suddenly  unveiled  to  them ;  in  their  sub- 
lime emotion  they  seem  to  have  detected  its  first  cause ;  they  have 
at  least  detected  some  of  its  elements.  Through  a  fortunate  con- 
junction of  circumstances  these  elements  are  just  those  which 
their  century,  their  race,  a  group  of  races,  a  fragment  of  human- 
ity, is  in  a  state  to  comprehend.  Their  point  of  view  is  the  only 
one  at  which  the  graduated  multitudes  below  them  are  able  to 
place  themselves.  For  millions  of  men,  for  hundreds  of  genera- 
tions, only  through  them  is  any  access  to  divine  things  to  be  ob- 
tained. Theirs  is  the  unique  utterance,  heroic  or  affecting,  en- 
thusiastic or  tranquillizing;  the  only  one  which  the  hearts  and 
minds  around  them  and  after  them  will  heed;  the  only  one 
adapted  to  profound  cravings,  to  accumulated  aspirations,  to  he- 
reditary faculties,  to  a  complete  intellectual  and  moral  organism ; 
yonder  that  of  Hindostan  or  of  the  Mongolian ;  here  that  of  the 
Semite  or  of  the  European;  in  our  Europe  that  of  the  German, 
the  Latin  or  the  Sclave ;  in  such  a  way  that  its  contradictions  in- 
stead of  condemning  it,  justify  it,  its  diversity  producing  its  adap- 
tation and  its  adaptation  producing  its  benefits. 

This  is  no  barren  formula.  A  sentiment  of  such  grandeur,  of 
such  comprehensive  and  penetrating  insight,  an  idea  by  which 
man,  compassing  the  vastness  and  depth  of  things,  so  greatly 
oversteps  the  ordinary  limits  of  his  mortal  condition,  resembles  an 
illumination;  it.  is  easily  transformed  into  a  vision;  it  is  never  re- 
mote from  ecstacy ;  it  can  express  itself  only  through  symbols ; 
it  evokes  divine  figures.2  Religion  in  its  nature  is  a  metaphysical 
poem  accompanied  by  faith.  Under  this  title  it  is  popular  and 
efficacious ;  for,  apart  from  an  invisible  select  few,  a  pure  abstract 

i  Cf.  Leplay,  "De  1'Organization  de  la  famille,"  the  history  of  a  domain  in  the  Pyrenees. 
3  See,  especially,  in  Brahminic  literature  the  great  metaphysical  poems  and  the  Puranas. 

1 8* 


*io  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  in. 

idea  is  only  an  empty  term,  and  truth,  to  be  apparent,  must  be 
clothed  with  a  body.  It  requires  a  form  of  worship,  a  legend 
and  ceremonies  in  order  to  address  the  people,  women,  children, 
the  credulous,  every  one  absorbed  by  daily  cares,  any  under- 
standing in  which  ideas  involuntarily  translate  themselves  through 
imagery.  Owing  to  this  palpable  form  it  is  able  to  give  ita 
weighty  support  to  the  conscience,  to  counterbalance  natural 
egoism,  to  curb  the  mad  onset  of  brutal  passions,  to  lead  the 
will  to  abnegation  and  devotion,  to  tear  man  away  from  himself 
and  place  him  wholly  in  the  service  of  truth,  or  of  his  kind,  to 
form  ascetics,  martyrs,  sisters  of  charity  and  missionaries.  Thus, 
throughout  society,  religion  becomes  at  once  a  natural  and  pre- 
cious instrumentality.  On  the  one  hand  men  require  it  for  the 
contemplation  of  infinity  and  to  live  properly ;  if  it  were  suddenly 
to  be  taken  away  from  them  their  souls  would  be  a  mournful 
void  and  they  would  do  greater  injury  to  their  neighbors.  Be- 
sides, it  would  be  vain  to  attempt  to  take  it  away  from  them; 
the  hand  raised  against  it  would  encounter  only  its  envelope; 
it  would  be  repelled  after  a  sanguinary  struggle,  its  germ  lyine; 
too  deeply  to  be  extirpated. 

And  when,  at  length,  after  religion  and  habit,  we  regard  the 
State,  that  is  to  say,  the  armed  power  possessing  both  physical 
force  and  moral  authority,  we  find  for  it  an  almost  equally  noble 
origin.  In  Europe  at  least,  from  Russia  to  Portugal,  and  from 
Norway  to  the  two  Sicilies  it  is,  in  its  origin  and  essence,  a  mili- 
tary foundation  in  which  heroism  constitutes  itself  the  champion 
of  right.  Here  and  there,  in  the  chaos  of  mixed  races  and  of 
crumbling  societies,  some  man  has  arisen  who,  through  his 
ascendency,  rallies  around  him  a  loyal  band,  driving  out  in- 
truders, overcoming  brigands,  re-establishing  order,  reviving  agri- 
culture, founding  a  patrimony,  and  transmitting  as  property  to 
his  descendants  his  office  of  hereditary  justiciary  and  born  general. 
Through  this  permanent  delegation  a  great  public  office  is  re- 
moved from  competitors,  fixed  in  one  family,  sequestered  in  safe 
binds;  thenceforth  the  nation  possesses  a  vital  centre  and  each 
right  obtains  a  visible  protector.  If  the  sovereign  confines  him- 
self to  his  attributions,  is  restrained  in  despotic  tendencies, 
and  avoids  falling  into  egotism,  he  gives  the  country  one  of  the 
best  governments  of  which  the  world  has  any  knowledge,  not 
alone  the  most  stable,  the  most  capable  of  continuance,  the  mosl 


CHAP.  HI.       THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  DOCTRINE.  211 

suitable  for  maintaining  together  a  body  of  twenty  or  thirty  thou- 
sand men,  but,  again,  one  of  the  best,  because  self-sacrifice  digni- 
fies both  command  and  obedience  and,  through  the  prolongation 
of  military  tradition,  fidelity  and  honor,  from  grade  to  grade, 
attaches  the  chieftain  to  his  duty  and  the  soldier  to  his  chieftain. 
Such  are  the  valid  claims  of  hereditary  prejudice ;  like  in- 
stinct, we  see  in  it  a  blind  form  of  reason.  And  what  renders 
it  completely  legitimate,  in  order  to  make  it  serviceable,  is  that 
reason  herself  is  obliged  to  borrow  its  forms.  The  inspiration 
of  a  doctrine  is  due  to  its  blind  activity.  To  enter  into  practice, 
to  direct  souls,  to  convert  itself  into  a  spring  of  action,  it  must 
lodge  itself  in  minds  in  the  shape  of  an  accepted  belief,  enforced 
by  habit,  established  by  inclination,  handed  down  by  home  tradi- 
tions, and,  descending  from  the  stormy  heights  of  the  intellect, 
embed  itself  in  the  stagnant  depths  of  the  will;  then  only  does  it 
form  part  of  the  character  and  become  a  social  force.  But, 
through  the  same  process,  it  ceases  to  be  critical  and  clairvoy- 
ant; it  no  longer  tolerates  doubt  or  contradiction,  it  no  longer 
allows  restrictions  or  distinctions;  its  evidence  is  no  longer 
comprehended  or  is  misinterpreted.  We,  of  the  present  day, 
believe  in  infinite  progress  about  the  same  as  people  once  be- 
lieved in  original  sin;  we  still  accept  ready-made  opinions  from 
above,  the  Academy  of  Sciences  taking  the  place,  in  many  re- 
spects, of  the  ancient  councils.  Belief  and  obedience  will, 
except  with  a  few  special  savants,  continue  unreflecting,  while 
reason  would  greatly  err  in  resenting  the  leadership  of  prejudice 
in  human  affairs,  since,  to  take  this  lead,  she  must  herself  be- 
come prejudice. 

III. 

Unfortunately,  in  the  eighteenth  century,  reason  was  classic;  \  ^ 
not  only  the  aptitude  but  the  documents  which  enable  it  to  com- 
prehend tradition,  were  absent.      In  the  first  place,  there  was 
no  knowledge  of  history ;  there  was  a  repugnance  to  erudition, 
because  of  its  dulness  and  tediousness;   learned  compilations, 
vast  collections  of  extracts  and  the  slow  work  of  criticism  were 
held  in  disdain.    Voitawe  rallied  the  Benedictines.    Montesquieu, 
to  ensure  the  acceptance  of  his  "  Esprit  des  lois,"  indulged  in  wii     / 
about  laws.     Raynal,  to  give  an  impetus  to  his  history  of  com- 
merce in  the  Indies,  welded  to  it  the  declamation  of  Didejot. 


*I2  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  m 

The  Abb6  Barthe"lemy  covered  over  the  realities  of  Greek  manners 
and  customs  with  his  literary  varnish.  Science  was  expected  to 
be  either  epigrammatic  or  oratorical ;  crude  or  technical  details 
would  have  been  objectionable  to  a  public  composed  of  people 
of  society ;  correctness  of  style  drove  out  or  falsified  the  little 
significant  facts  which  give  a  peculiar  sense  and  their  original 
relief  to  antiquated  characters.  Even  if  writers  had  dared  to 
note  them,  their  sense  and  bearing  would  not  have  been  under- 
stood. The  sympathetic  imagination  did  not  exist ;  people  were 
incapable  of  going  out  of  themselves,  of  betaking  themselves 
to  distant  points  of  view,  of  conjecturing  the  peculiar  and  violent 
states  of  the  human  brain,  the  decisive  and  fruitful  moments 
during  which  it  gives  birth  to  a  vigorous  creation,  a  religion  des- 
tined to  rule,  a  state  that  is  sure  to  endure.  The  imagination  of 
man  is  limited  to  personal  experiences,  and  where,  in  their 
experience,  could  individuals  in  this  society  find  the  materials 
with  which  to  imagine  the  pains  of  the  parturition  ?  How  could 
minds  as  polished  and  as  amiable  as  these  fully  adopt  the 
sentiments  of  an  apostle,  of  a  monk,  of  a  barbaric  or  feudal 
founder,  see  these  in  the  milieu  which  explains  and  justifies  them, 
picture  to  themselves  the  surrounding  crowd,  at  first  souls  in 
despair  and  haunted  by  mystic  dreams,  and  next  the  rude  and 
violent  intellects  given  up  to  instinct  and  imagery,  thinking  with 
half-visions,  their  wills  consisting  of  irresistible  impulses?  A 
reason  of  this  stamp  forms  no  conception  of  figures  like  these. 
To  bring  them  within  its  rectilinear  limits  they  require  to  be 
reduced  and  made  over ;  the  Macbeth  of  Shakespeare  becomes 
that  of  Ducis,  and  the  Mahomet  of  the  Koran  that  of  Voltaire. 
Consequently,  as  they  failed  to  see  souls,  they  misconceived 
institutions.  The  suspicion  that  truth  could  have  been  conveyed 
only  through  the  medium  of  legends,  that  justice  could  have 
been  established  only  by  force,  that  religion  was  obliged  to 
assume  the  sacerdotal  form,  that  the  State  necessarily  took  a  mil- 
itary form,  and  that  the  Gothic  edifice  possessed,  as  well  as  other 
structures,  its  own  architecture,  proportions,  balance  of  parts, 
solidity,  utility,  and  even  beauty,  never  entered  their  heads. 
Consequently  again,  unable  to  comprehend  the  past,  they  were 
unable  to  comprehend  the  present.  They  had  no  accurate 
conception  of  the  present,  of  the  mechanic,  of  the  provin- 
cial bourgeois,  or  even  of  the  inferior  rural  noble ;  these  were 


CHAP.  in.          THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  DOCTRINE.  213 

visible  only  at  a  distance,  half-effaced,  and  wholly  transformed 
through  philosophic  theories  and  sentimental  mistiness.  "Two  or 
three  thousand"1  polished  and  cultivated  individuals  formed  the 
circle  of  honest  folks,  and  they  never  went  outside  of  this.  If 
they  obtained  glimpses  of  the  people  from  their  chateaux  and 
on  their  journeys,  it  was  in  passing,  the  same  as  of  tleir  post- 
horses,  or  of  the  cattle  on  their  farms,  showing  compassion  un- 
doubtedly, but  never  divining  their  anxious  thoughts  and  their 
obscure  instincts.  The  structure  of  the  still  primitive  mind  of 
the  people  was  never  imagined,  the  paucity  and  tenacity  of  their 
ideas,  the  narrowness  of  their  mechanical,  routine  existence,  de- 
voted to  manual  labor,  absorbed  with  anxieties  for  daily  bread, 
confined  to  the  bounds  of  a  visible  horizon;  their  attachment  to 
the  local  saint,  to  rites,  to  the  priest,  their  deep-seated  rancor, 
their  inveterate  distrust,  their  credulity  growing  out  of  the  imag- 
ination, their  lack  of  capacity  for  conceiving  abstract  right  and 
of  comprehending  public  events,  the  silent  operation  by  which 
political  novelties  became  transformed  in  their  brain  into  nursery 
fables  or  into  ghost  stories,  their  contagious  infatuations  like 
those  of  sheep,  their  blind  fury  like  that  of  bulls,  and  all  those 
traits  of  character  the  Revolution  was  about  to  bring  to  light 
Twenty  millions  of  men  and  more  had  scarcely  passed  out  of  the 
mental  condition  of  the  middle  ages ;  hence,  in  its  grand  lines, 
the  social  edifice  in  which  they  could  dwell  was  necessarily  me- 
diaeval. It  had  to  be  made  healthy  and  cleaned,  windows  put 
in  and  walls  pulled  down,  but  without  disturbing  the  foundations, 
or  the  main  building  and  its  general  arrangement;  otherwise, 
after  demolishing  it  and  living  encamped  for  ten  years  in  the  open 
air  like  savages,  its  inmates  would  have  been  obliged  to  rebuild 
it  on  the  same  plan.  In  uneducated  minds,  those  having  not  yet 
attained  to  reflection,  faith  attaches  itself  only  to  the  corporeal 
symbol,  obedience  being  brought  about  only  through  physical 
restraint ;  there  is  no  religion  outside  of  the  curate,  and  no  state 
outside  of  the  soldier.  But  one  writer,  Montesquieu,  the  best 
instructed,  the  most  sagacious,  and  the  best  balanced  of  all  the 
spirits  of  the  age,  discerned  these  truths,  and  because  he  was  at 
once  an  erudite,  ar.  observer,  a  historian  and  a  jurisconsult.  He, 
however,  spoke  as  an  oracle,  sententiouslyand  enigmatically;  he 

*  Voltaire,  "Diet.  Phil.,"  the  article  on  Punishments, 


214  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  in, 

squirmed  as  if  on  live  coals,  every  time  that  he  touched  mat- 
ters belonging  to  his  country  and  epoch.  Hence,  he  remained 
respected,  but  isolated,  his  fame  exercising  no  influence.  The 
classic  reason  declined J  to  go  so  far  as  to  laboriously  study  the 
ancient  man  and  the  actual  man.  It  found  the  way  shorter  and 
more  convenient  to  follow  its  original  bent,  to  shut  its  eyes  on 
the  real  being,  tc  fall  back  upon  its  stores  of  current  notions,  to 
derive  from  these  an  idea  of  man  in  general,  and  build  up  ac- 
cordingly. Through  this  natural  and  conclusive  state  of  blind- 
ness, it  no  longer  heeds  the  old  and  living  roots  of  contemporary 
institutions;  no  longer  seeing  them  it  denies  that  they  exist. 
Hereditary  prejudice  to  it  becomes  pure  prejudice;  tradition  has 
no  further  claim  on  us,  and  royalty  is  an  usurpation.  Thence- 
forward reason  arms  itself  against  its  predecessor  to  wrest  away 
the  government  of  souls  and  to  substitute  the  reign  of  truth  for 
the  reign  of  error. 

IV. 

In  this  great  undertaking  there  are  two  halting-places ;  either 
through  good  sense  or  through  timidity  many  stop  half-way. 
The  first  campaign  results  in  carrying  the  enemy's  out-works  and 
his  frontier  fortresses,  the  philosophical  army  being  led  by  Vol- 
taire. To  combat  hereditary  prejudice,  other  prejudices  are 
opposed  to  it  whose  empire  is  as  extensive  and  whose  authority 
is  not  less  recognized.  Montesquieu  looks  at  France  through 
the  eyes  of  a  Persian,  and  Voltaire,  on  his  return  from  England, 
describes  the  English,  an  unknown  species.  Confronting  dogma 
and  the  prevailing  system  of  worship,  accounts  are  given,  either 
with  open  or  with  covert  irony,  of  the  various  Christian  sects, 
the  anglicans,  the  quakers,  the  presbyterians,  the  socinians,  those 
of  ancient  or  of  remote  people,  the  Greeks,  Romans,  Egyptians, 
Mahometans  and  Guebers,  of  the  worshippers  of  Brahma,  of 
the  Chinese  and  of  pure  idolaters.  In  relation  to  established  laws 
and  customs,  expositions  are  made,  with  evident  intentions, 
of  other  constitutions  and  other  social  habits,  of  despotism, 
of  limited  monarchy,  of  a  republic,  here  the  church  subject 
to  the  state,  there  the  church  free  of  the  state,  in  this  country 
castes,  in  another  polygamy,  and,  from  country  to  country,  from 
century  to  century,  the  diversity,  contradiction  and  antagonism 

I  "Resume  des  cahiers,"  by  Prud'homme,  preface,  1789. 


CHAP.  in.          THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  DOCTRINE.  215 

of  fundamental  customs  which,  each  on  its  own  ground,  are 
all  equally  consecrated  by  tradition  and  legitimately  forming  the 
system  of  public  rights.  From  this  time  forth  tne  charm  is 
broken.  Ancient  institutions  lose  their  divine  prestige ;  they  are 
simply  human  works,  the  fruits  of  the  place  and  of  the  momert, 
and  born  out  of  convenience  and  a  covenant.  Scepticism  enters 
through  all  the  breaches.  With  regard  to  Christianity  it  at 
once  changes  into  open  hostility,  into  a  bitter  and  prolonged 
polemical  warfare;  for,  under  the  title  of  a  state  religion  this 
occupies  the  ground,  censuring  free  thought,  burning  writings, 
exiling,  imprisoning  or  disturbing  authors  and  everywhere  acting 
as  a  natural  and  official  adversary.  Moreover,  by  virtue  of 
being  an  ascetic  religion,  it  condemns  not  only  the  free  and 
cheerful  ways  tolerated  by  the  new  philosophy  but,  again,  the 
natural  tendencies  it  sanctions,  and  the  promises  of  terrestrial 
felicity  with  which  it  everywhere  dazzles  the  eyes.  Thus  the 
heart  and  the  head  both  agree  in  their  opposition.  Voltaire, 
with  texts  in  hand,  pursues  it  from  one  end  to  the  other  of 
its  history,  from  the  first  biblical  narration  to  the  latest  papal 
bulls,  with  unflagging  animosity  and  energy,  as  critic,  as  his- 
torian, as  geographer,  as  logician,  as  moralist,  questioning  its 
sources,  opposing  evidences,  driving  ridicule  like  a  pick-axe 
into  every  weak  spot  where  an  outraged  instinct  beats  against 
its  mystic  walls,  and  into  all  doubtful  places  where  ulterioi 
patchwork  disfigures  the  primitive  structure.  He  respects,  how- 
ever, the  first  foundation,  and  in  this  particular  the  greatest 
writers  of  the  day  follow  the  same  course.  Under  positive 
religions  that  are  false  there  is  a  natural  religion  that  is  true. 
This  is  the  simple  and  authentic  text  of  which  the  others  are 
altered  and  amplified  translations.  On  removing  the  ulterior 
and  divergent  surplusage  the  original  remains  and  this  common 
extract,  with  which  all  copies  harmonize,  is  deism.  The  same 
operation  ensues  with  civil  and  political  laws.  In  France  where 
so  many  institutions  survive  their  utility,  where  privileges  are 
no  longer  sanctioned  by  services,  where  rights  are  changed  into 
abuses,  how  incoherent  is  the  architecture  of  the  old  Gothic 
building !  How  poorly  adapted  to  a  modern  nation !  Of  what 
use,  in  an  unique  and  compact  state,  of  all  those  feudal  compart- 
ments separating  orders,  corporations  and  provinces  ?  What  a 
living  paradox  the  archbishop-lord  of  a  semi-province,  a  chaptei 


216  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  in. 

owning  twelve  thousand  serfs,  a  drawing-room  abbe  well  sup- 
ported by  a  monastery  he  never  saw,  a  seignior  liberally  pen- 
sioned to  figure  in  antechambers,  a  magistrate  purchasing  the 
right  to  administer  justice,  a  colonel  leaving  college  to  take  the 
command  of  his  inherited  regiment,  a  Parisian  trader  who,  rent- 
ing a  house  for  one  year  in  Franche-Comt6,  alienates  the  owner- 
ship of  his  property  and  of  his  person.  Throughout  Europe 
there  are  others  of  the  same  character.  The  best  that  can  be 
said  of  "a  polished  nation"  is  that  its  laws,  customs  and  prac- 
tices are  composed  "one-half  of  abuses  and  one-half  of  tolerable 
usages."  But,  underneath  these  positive  laws,  which  contradict 
each  other,  and  of  which  each  contradicts  itself,  a  natural  law 
exists,  implied  in  the  codes,  applied  socially,  and  written  in 
all  hearts.  "  Show  me  a  country  where  it  is  honest  to  steal  the 
fruits  of  my  labor,  to  violate  engagements,  to  lie  for  injurious 
purposes,  to  calumniate,  to  assassinate,  to  imprison,  to  be  un- 
grateful to  one's  benefactor,  to  strike  one's  father  and  mother 
on  offering  you  food."  "Justice  and  injustice  is  the  same 
throughout  the  universe,"  and,  as  in  the  worst  community  force 
always,  in  some  respects,  is  at  the  service  of  right  so,  in  the  worst 
religion,  the  extravagant  dogma  always  in  some  fashion  proclaims 
a  supreme  architect.  Religions  and  communities,  accordingly, 
disintegrated  under  the  investigating  process,  disclose  at  the 
bottom  of  the  crucible,  some  a  residuum  of  truth,  others  a 
residuum  of  justice,  a  small  but  precious  balance,  a  sort  of 
gold  ingot  preserved  by  tradition,  purified  by  reason,  and  which 
little  by  little,  freed  from  its  alloys,  elaborated  and  devoted 
to  all  usages,  must  solely  provide  the  substance  of  religion  and 
all  the  threads  of  the  social  warp. 

V. 

Here  begins  the  second  philosophic  expedition.  It  consists 
of  two  armies,  the  first  composed  of  the  encyclopedists,  some  of 
them  sceptics  like  d'Alembert,  others  pantheists  like  Diderot  and 
Lamarck,  others  open  atheists  and  materialists  like  d'Holbach, 
Lamettrie  and  Helv6tius,  and  later,  Condorcet,  Lalande  and 
Volney,  all  differing  and  independent  of  each  other,  but  all 
unanimous  in  regarding  tradition  as  the  common  enemy.  Such 
is  the  effect  of  prolonged  hostilities :  the  duration  of  warfare 
begets  exasperation ;  the  desire  to  be  master  of  everything,  to 


CHAP.  m.          THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  DOCTRINE.  217 

push  the  adversary  to  the  wall,  to  drive  him  out  of  all  his  posi- 
tions. They  refuse  to  admit  that  reason  and  tradition  can  oc- 
cupy and  defend  the  same  citadel  together;  as  soon  as  one 
enters  the  other  must  depart;  henceforth  one  prejudice  is  estab- 
lished against  another  prejudice.  In  fact,  Voltaire,  "the  patri- 
arch, does  not  desire  to  abandon  his  redeeming  and  avenging 
God ; " 1  let  us  tolerate  in  him  this  remnant  of  superstition  on  ac- 
count of  his  great  services  ;  but  let  us  examine  as  men  this  phan- 
tom which  he  regards  with  infantile  vision.  We  admit  it  into 
our  minds  through  faith,  and  faith  is  always  suspicious.  It  is 
forged  by  ignorance,  fear,  and  imagination,  which  are  all  decep- 
tive powers.  At  first  it  was  simply  the  fetish  of  savages ;  in  vain 
have  we  striven  to  purify  and  aggrandize  it ;  its  origin  is  always 
apparent ;  its  history  is  that  of  a  hereditary  dream  which,  arising 
in  a  rude  and  doting  brain,  prolongs  itself  from  generation  to 
generation,  and  still  lasts  in  the  healthy  and  cultivated  brain. 
Voltaire  would  have  this  dream  true  because,  otherwise,  he 
is  unable  to  explain  the  admirable  order  of  the  world,  the 
watch  suggesting  a  watchmaker;  prove,  first,  that  the  world 
is  a  watch  and,  then,  let  us  see  if  the  arrangement,  such  as 
it  is,  incomplete,  which  we  have  observed,  cannot  be  better 
explained  by  a  simpler  supposition  and  more  conformable 
to  experience,  that  of  eternal  matter  in  which  motion  is  eter- 
nal. Mobile  and  active  particles,  the  different  kinds  of  which 
are  in  different  states  of  equilibrium,  afford  minerals,  inorganic 
substances,  marble,  lime,  air,  water  and  coal.2  I  form  humus 
out  of  this,  "  I  sow  peas,  beans  and  cabbages,"  plants  finding  their 
nourishment  in  the  humus  and  "  I  find  my  nourishment  in  the 
plants."  At  every  meal,  within  me,  and  through  me,  inanimate 
matter  becomes  animate ;  "  I  convert  it  into  flesh.  I  animalize 
it.  I  render  it  sensitive."  It  harbors  latent,  imperfect  sensibil- 
ity rendered  perfect  and  made  manifest.  Organization  is  the 
cause,  and  life  and  sensation  are  the  effects;  I  need  no  spiritual 
monad  to  account  for  effects  since  I  am  in  possession  of  the 
cause.  "  Look  at  this  egg  !  All  the  schools  of  theology  and 
all  the  temples  of  the  earth  are  overthrown  with  that.  What  is 
this  egg  ?  A  sensationless  mass  previous  to  the  introduction  of 

'  Voltaire,  "  Diet.  Phil.,"  the  article  on  Religion.    "If  there  is  a  ham  let  to  be 
governed  it  must  have  a  religion." 
11  "  Le  rSve  de  d'Alembert,"  by  Diderot,  passim. 

19 


218  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  in. 

the  germ  And  what  is  it  after  the  introduction  of  the  germ  ? 
An  insensible  mass,  an  inert  fluid."  Add  heat  to  it,  keep  it  in  an 
oven,  and  let  the  operation  continue  of  itself,  and  we  have 
a  chicken,  that  is  to  say,  "sensibility,  life,  memory,  conscience, 
passions  and  thought."  That  which  you  call  soul  is  the  nervous 
centre  in  which  all  sensitive  chords  concentrate.  Their  vibra- 
tions produce  sensations;  a  quickened  or  reviving  sensation  is 
memory;  our  ideas  are  the  result  of  sensations,  memory  and 
signs.  Matter,  accordingly,  is  not  the  work  of  an  intelligence 
but  matter,  through  its  own  arrangement,  produces  intelligence. 
Let  us  fix  intelligence  where  it  is,  in  the  organized  body;  we 
must  not  detach  it  from  its  support  to  perch  it  in  the  sky  on 
an  imaginary  throne.  This  disproportionate  conception,  once 
introduced  into  our  minds,  ends  in  perverting  the  natural  play 
of  our  sentiments,  and,  like  a  monstrous  parasite,  abstracts  for 
itself  all  our  substance.1  The  first  duty  of  a  sound  man  is  to  get 
rid  of  it,  to  discard  every  superstition,  every  "fear  of  invisible 
powers."2  Then  only  can  he  establish  a  moral  order  of  things 
and  distinguish  "the  natural  law."  The  sky  consisting  of 
empty  space,  we  have  no  need  to  seek  commands  from  on  high. 
Let  us  look  down  to  the  ground ;  let  us  consider  man  in  himself, 
as  he  appears  in  the  eyes  of  the  naturalist,  namely,  an  organized 
body,  a  sensitive  animal  possessing  wants,  appetites  and  in- 
stincts. Not  only  are  these  indestructible  but  they  are  legiti- 
mate. Let  us  throw  open  the  prison  in  which  prejudice  con- 
fines them;  let  us  give  them  free  air  and  space;  let  them  be 
displayed  in  all  their  strength  and  all  will  go  well.  According 
to  Diderot,3  a  lasting  marriage  is  an  abuse,  being  "  the  tyranny 
of  a  man  who  has  converted  the  possession  of  a  woman  into 
property."  Purity  is  an  invention  and  conventional,  like  a 
dress;4  happiness  and  morals  go  together  only  in  countries 
where  instinct  is  sanctioned  as  in  Otaheite,  for  instance,  where 

1  "If  a  misanthrope  had  proposed  to  himself  to  injure  humanity  what  could  he  have  in- 
vented better  than  faith  in  an  incomprehensible  being,  about  which  men  never  could  ccma 
to  any  agreement,  and  to  which  they  would  attach  more  importance  than  to  their  own  ex- 
istence?" Diderot,  "Entretien  d'un  philosophe  avec  la  Mare'chale ." 

*  C£  "Catechisme  Universel,"  by  Saint- Lambert,  and  the  "  Loi  naturelle  ou  Cat6chismo 
du  citoyen  franyais,"  by  Volney. 

3  "Supplement  au  voyage  de  Bougainville." 

4  Cf.  "Me'moires  de  Mme.  d'Epinay,"  a  conversation  with  Duclos  and  Saint-Lambert  at 
the  house  of  Mile.  Quinault     Rousseai.'s  "  Confessions,"  part  i.  book  V.     These  are  the 
»ame  principles  taught  by  M.  de  la  Tavel  to  Mme  de  Wirens. 


CHAP.  in.          1HE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  DOCTRINE.  219 

marriage  lasts  but  a  month,  often  only  a  day,  and  sometimes  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  where,  in  the  evening  and  with  hospitable 
intent,  a  host  offers  his  daughters  and  wife  to  his  guest,  where 
the  son  espouses  his  mother  out  of  politeness,  where  the  union 
of  the  sexes  is  a  religious  festivity  celebrated  in  public.  And, 
pushing  things  to  extremes,  the  logician  ends  with  five  or  six 
pages  calculated  "to  make  one's  hair  stand  on  end,"1  himself 
avowing  that  his  doctrine  is  "  not  suited  to  children  or  the  great." 
With  Diderot,  to  say  the  least,  these  paradoxes  have  their  cor- 
rectives. In  his  pictures  of  modern  ways  and  habits,  he  is  the 
moralist.  He  not  only  is  familiar  with  all  the  chords  of  the 
human  keyboard,  but  he  classifies  each  according  to  its  rank. 
He  loves  fine  and  pure  tones,  and  is  full  of  enthusiasm  for  noble 
harmonies;  his  heart  is  equal  to  his  genius.2  And  better  still, 
on  the  question  of  primitive  impulsions  arising,  he  assigns, 
side  by  side  with  self-love,  an  independent  and  superior  position 
to  pity,  sympathy,  benevolence  and  well-doing ;  to  every  gener- 
ous affection  of  the  heart  displaying  sacrifice  and  devotion  with- 
out calculation  or  personal  benefit.  But,  associated  with  him, 
are  others,  cold  and  narrow,  who  form  moral  systems  according 
to  the  mathematical  methods  of  the  ideologists,  after  the  style  of 
Hobbes.3  One  motive  alone  satisfies  these,  the  simplest  and 
most  palpable,  utterly  gross,  almost  mechanical,  completely  phys- 
iological, the  natural  animal  tendency  of  avoiding  pain  and  seek- 
ing pleasure.  "Pain  and  pleasure,"  says  Helv£tius,  "form  the 
only  springs  of  the  moral  universe ;  the  sentiment  of  self-love  is 
the  only  basis  on  which  we  can  lay  the  foundations  of  practical 
morality.  What  motive  but  that  of  self-interest  could  lead 
a  man  to  perform  a  generous  action  ?  He  can  as  little  love 
good  for  the  sake  of  good  as  evil  for  the  sake  of  evil."4  The 
principles  of  natural  law,  say  the  disciples,  are  reduced  to  one 
unique  and  fundamental  principle,  self-preservation." 5  "To  pre- 
serve oneself,  to  be  happy,"  is  instinct,  right  and  duty.  "  Oh, 

1  "Suite  du  reVe  de  d'Alembert."  "Eatretien  entre  Miles,  de  Lespinasse  et  Borde-.' 
"M6moires  de  Diderot,"  a  letter  to  Mile.  Volant,  III.  66. 

1  Cf.  his  admirable  tales,  "Entretiens  d'un  pere  avec  ses  enfants,"  and  "  Le  nisveu  d« 
Rameau." 

B  Volney,  ibid.  "  The  natural  law  consists  wholly  of  facts  of  which  the  demonstration  ii 
unceasingly  renewed  to  the  senses  and  which  compose  a  science  as  precise  and  accurate  a* 
geometry  and  mathematics." 

«  Helvetius,  "  De  rEsprit,"  jassim. 

*  Volney,  ibid.  chap.  iii.     Saint-Lambert,  ibid,  the  first  dialogue. 


220  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  in. 

ye," 1  says  nature,  "  who,  through  the  impulsion  I  bestow  on  you, 
tending  towards  happiness  at  every  moment  of  your  being,  resist 
not  my  sovereign  law,  strive  for  your  own  felicity,  enjoy  fearlessly 
and  be  happy ! "  But,  to  be  happy,  contribute  to  the  happiness 
of  others ;  if  you  wish  them  to  be  useful  to  you,  be  useful  to 
them;  your  interest,  properly  understood,  commands  you  to 
serve  them.  "  Every  man,  from  birth  to  death,  has  need  of  man- 
kind." "  Live  then  for  them,  that  they  may  live  for  you."  "  Be 
good,  because  goodness  links  hearts  together ;  be  gentle,  because 
gentleness  wins  affection ;  be  modest,  because  pride  repels  beings 
full  of  their  self-importance.  ...  Be  citizens,  because  a  coun- 
try is  necessary  to  ensure  your  safety  and  well-being.  Defend 
your  country,  because  it  renders  you  happy  and  contains  your 
possessions."  Virtue  thus  is  simply  egotism  furnished  with  a 
spy-glass ;  man  has  no  other  reason  for  doing  good  but  the  fear 
of  doing  himself  harm,  while  self-devotion  consists  of  self-interest. 
One  goes  fast  and  far  on  this  road.  When  the  sole  law  for  each 
person  is  to  be  happy,  each  wishes  to  be  so  immediately  and  in 
his  own  way ;  the  herd  of  appetites  is  let  loose,  rushing  ahead  and 
breaking  down  all  barriers.  And  the  more  readily  because  it 
has  been  demonstrated  to  them  that  every  barrier  is  an  evil,  in- 
vented by  cunning  and  malicious  shepherds,  the  better  to  milk  and 
shear  them.  "The  state  of  society  is  a  state  of  warfare  of  the 
sovereign  against  all,  and  of  each  member  against  the  rest.2  .  .  . 
We  see  on  the  face  of  the  globe  only  incapable,  unjust  sovereigns, 
enervated  by  luxury,  corrupted  by  flattery,  depraved  through  un- 
punished license,  and  without  talent,  morals,  or  good  qualities. 
.  .  .  Man  is  wicked  not  because  he  is  wicked,  but  because  he 
has  been  made  so."  "Would  you  know  the  story,  in  brief,  of 
almost  all  our  wretchedness?3  Here  it  is.  There  existed  the 
natural  man,  and  into  this  man  was  introduced  an  artificial  man, 
whereupon  a  civil  war  arose  within  him,  lasting  through  life. 
...  If  you  propose  to  become  a  tyrant  over  him,  ...  do  your 
best  to  poison  him  with  a  theory  of  morals  against  nature ;  impose 
every  kind  of  fetter  on  him ;  embarrass  his  movements  with  a 
thousand  obstacles ;  place  phantoms  around  him  to  frighten  him. 
.  .  .  Would  you  see  him  happy  and  free  ?  Do  not  meddle  with 

>  D'Holbach,  "  Systeme  de  la  Natun .,"  II.  408-493.  *  Ibid.  I.  347. 

»  Diderot,  "Supplement  au  voyage  de  Bougainville." 


CHAP,  in  THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  DOCTRINE.  221 

his  affairs.  .  .  .  Remain  convinced  of  this,  that  these  wise  legis- 
lators have  formed  and  shaped  you  as  they  have  done,  not  for 
your  benefit,  but  for  their  own.  I  appeal  to  every  civil,  religious, 
and  political  institution ;  examine  these  closely,  and,  if  I  am  not 
mistaken,  you  will  find  the  human  species,  century  after  century, 
subject  to  a  yoke  which  a  mere  handful  of  knaves  chose  to  impose 
on  it.  ...  Be  wary  of  him  who  seeks  to  establish  order;  to 
order  is  to  obtain  the  mastery  of  others  by  giving  them  trouble." 
All  this  must  come  to  an  end ;  the  passions  are  proper,  and  if  the 
herd  would  eat  freely,  its  first  care  must  be  to  trample  under  its 
sabots  the  mitred  and  crowned  animals  who  keep  it  in  the  fold 
for  their  own  advantage.1 

VI. 

A  return  to  nature,  meaning  by  this  the  abolition  of  society,  is 
the  war-cry  of  the  whole  encyclopedic  battalion.  The  same 
shout  is  heard  in  another  quarter,  coming  from  the  Rousseau 
battalion  and  that  of  the  socialists  who,  in  their  turn,  march  up 
to  the  assault  of  the  established  regime.  The  mining  and  sapping 
of  the  walls  practised  by  the  latter  seems  less  extensive,  but 
only  the  more  efficacious,  while  the  distinctive  machinery  it  em- 
ploys consists  likewise  of  a  new  conception  of  human  nature. 
Rousseau  derived  this  conception  wholly  from  the  spectacle  he 
contemplated  in  his  own  breast : 2  a  strange,  original  and  superior 
man,  who,  from  his  infancy,  harbored  within  him  a  germ  of  in- 
sanity and  who  finally  became  wholly  insane;  a  wonderful, 
ill-balanced  mind  in  which  sensations,  emotions  and  images  are 
too  powerful :  at  once  blind  and  perspicacious,  a  veritable  poet 

1  Diderot,  "Les  Eleuthe'romanes." 

Et  ses  mains,  ourdissant  les  entrailles  du  pre'tre, 
En  feraient  un  cordon  pour  le  dernier  des  rois. 

Brissot :  "  Wants  being  the  sole  title  to  property  the  result  is  that  when  a  want  is  satisfied 
man  is  no  longer  a  property  owner.  .  .  .  Two  prime  necessities  are  due  to  the  animal  con 
stitution,  food  and  waste.  .  .  .  May  men  nourish  themselves  on  their  fallen  creatures  ?  (Yes. 
for)  all  beings  may  justly  nourish  themselves  on  any  material  calculated  to  supply  theii 
wants.  .  .  .  Man  of  nature,  fulfil  your  desire,  give  heed  to  your  cravings,  your  sole  masten 
and  your  only  guide.  Do  you  feel  your  veins  throbbing  with  inward  fires  at  the  sight  oi  a 
charming  creature  ?  She  is  yours,  your  caresses  are  innocent  and  your  kisses  pure.  Lovs 
alone  entitles  to  enjoyment  as  hunger  is  the  warrant  for  property."  (An  essay  published 
In  1780,  and  reprinted  in  1782  in  the  "  Bibliotheque  du  Le'gislateur,"  quoted  by  Roux  and 
Buchez  "  Histoire  parlementaire,"  XIII.  431. 

*  The  words  of  Rousseau  himself  (  "  Rousseau  juge  de  Jean- Jacques,"  third  dialogue,  p. 
193):  "From  whence  may  the  painter  and  apo  ogist  of  nature,  now  so  disfigured  and  so 
calumniated,  derive  his  model  if  not  from  his  own  heart  ?  " 


«22  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  in 

and  a  morbid  poet,  who,  instead  of  objects  beheld  reveries, 
living  in  a  romance  and  dying  in  a  nightmare  of  his  own  creation  ; 
incapable  of  self-mastery  and  of  self-management,  regarding  res- 
olutions as  acts,  his  good  intentions  as  resolutions,  and  the  part 
he  assumed  for  the  character  he  thought  he  possessed  •,  wholly  dis- 
proportionate to  the  ordinary  ways  of  the  world,  striking  against, 
wounding  himself  and  sullying  himself  at  every  barrier  by  tne 
wayside;  committing  absurdities,  meannesses  and  crimes  and 
yet  preserving  up  to  the  end  delicate  and  profound  sensibility, 
humanity,  pity,  the  gift  of  tears,  the  faculty  of  loving,  the  passion 
for  justice,  the  sentiment  of  religion  and  of  enthusiasm,  like 
so  many  vigorous  roots  in  which  generous  sap  is  always  fer- 
menting, whilst  the  stem  and  the  branches  prove  abortive  and 
become  deformed  or  wither  under  the  inclemencies  of  the  at- 
mosphere. How  explain  such  a  contrast  ?  How  did  Rousseau 
himself  account  for  it?  A  critic,  a  psychologist  would  merely 
regard  it  as  a  singular  case,  the  effect  of  an  extraordinarily 
discordant  mental  formation,  analogous  to  that  of  Hamlet,  Chat- 
terton,  Rene"  or  Werther,  adapted  to  poetic  spheres,  but  unsuit- 
r  able  for  real  life.  Rousseau  generalizes;  occupied  with  himself, 
1  even  to  infatuation,  and  regarding  no  one  in  the  world  but 
i  himself  he  imagines  man  accordingly  and  "  describes  him  as  he 
•  feels  him  within."  Self-esteem,  moreover,  finds  its  account  in 
this ;  one  is  gratified  at  considering  himself  the  type  of  humanity ; 
the  statue  one  erects  of  himself  becomes  more  important ;  one 
rises  in  his  own  estimation  when,  in  confessing  to  himself,  he 
thinks  he  is  confessing  the  human  species.  Rousseau  convokes 
the  assembly  of  generations  with  the  trumpet  of  the  day  of  judg- 
ment, and  boldly  stands  up  in  the  eyes  of  all  men  and  of  the 
Supreme  Judge,  exclaiming,  "  Let  one  of  you  dare  to  say  I 
am  better  than  thou!"1  His  contaminations  all  come  to  him 
from  without;  his  vices  and  his  baseness  must  be  attributed  to 
circumstances :  "  If  I  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  a  better 

1  "  Confessions,"  Book  I.  p.  i,  and  at  the  end  of  the  fifth  book.  See  his  letter  to  Male- 
gherhes:  "I  know  my  great  faults,  and  am  profoundly  sensible  of  my  vices.  With  all 
that  I  shall  die  under  the  persuasion  that  of  all  the  men  I  have  encountered  no  one  was  tet- 
ter than  myself."  To  Madame  B ,  March  16,  1770,  he  writes:  "You  have  awarded  mo 

esteem  for  my  writings;  your  esteem  would  be  yet  greater  for  my  life  if  it  were  open  to  your 
inspection,  and  still  greater  for  my  heart  if  it  were  exposed  to  your  view.  Never  wa» 
there  a  better  one,  a  heart  more  tender  or  more  just.  .  .  .  My  misfortunes  are  all  duo  to 
my  virtues."  To  Madame  de  la  Tour,  "Whoever  is  not  enthus-Astic  in  my  behalf  is  uu 
worthy  of  me." 


CHAP.  in.          THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  DOCTRINE.  223 

master  .  .  I  should  have  been  a  good  Christian,  a  good  father, 
a  good  friend,  a  good  workman,  a  good  man  in  all  things."  The 
wrong  is  thus  all  on  the  side  of  society.  In  like  manner  nature, 
with  man  in  general,  is  good.  "  His  first  impulses  are  always 
right.  .  .  .  The  fundamental  principle  of  all  moral  questions,  on 
which  I  have  argued  in  all  my  writings,  is  that  man  is  naturally » 
good  and  loving  justice  and  order,  '  Emile,'  especially,  is  a  trea- 
tise on  the  natural  goodness  of  man,  intended  to  show  how  vice 
and  error,  foreign  to  his  constitution,  gradually  find  their  way  into 
it  from  without  and  insensibly  change  him.  .  .  .  Nature  made  man 
to  be  happy  and  good,  while  society  has  made  him  depraved  and 
miserable."1  Divest  him,  in  thought,  of  his  factitious  habits,  of 
his  superadded  necessities,  of  his  false  prejudices;  put  aside 
systems,  study  your  own  heart,  listen  to  the  inward  dictates  of 
feeling,  let  yourself  be  guided  by  the  light  of  instinct  and  of 
conscience,  and  you  will  again  find  the  first  Adam,  like  an  incor- 
ruptible marble  statue  that  has  fallen  into  a  marsh,  a  long  time 
lost  under  a  crust  of  slime  and  mud,  but  which,  released  from  its 
foul  covering,  may  be  replaced  on  its  pedestal  in  the  completeness 
of  its  form  and  in  the  perfect  purity  of  its  whiteness. 

Around  this  central  idea  a  reform  occurs  in  the  spiritualistic 
doctrine.  A  being  so  noble  cannot  possibly  consist  of  a  simple 
collection  of  organs ;  he  is  something  more  than  mere  matter ; 
the  impressions  he  derives  from  his  senses  do  not  constitute  his 
full  being.  "  I  am  not  merely  a  sensitive  and  passive  being,  but  an 
active  and  intelligent  being  and,  whatever  philosophy  may  say,  I 
dare  claim  the  honor  of  thinking."  And  better  still,  this  thinking 
principle,  in  man,  at  least,  is  of  a  superior  kind.  "Show  me 
another  animal  on  the  globe  capable  of  producing  fire  and  of 
admiring  the  sun.  What!  I  who  am  able  to  observe,  to  compre- 
hend beings  and  their  associations;  who  can  appreciate  order, 
beauty  and  virtue;  who  can  contemplate  the  universe  and  exalt 
myself  to  the  hand  which  controls  it ;  who  can  love  the  good 
and  do  good,  I  compare  myself  to  brutes ! "  Man  is  free,  capable 
of  deciding  between  two  actions,  and  therefore  the  creator  of 
his  actions ;  he  is  accordingly  a  first  and  original  cause, "  an 
immaterial  substance,"  distinct  from  the  body,  a  soul  hampered 
by  the  body  and  which  may  survive  the  body.  This  immortal 
soul  imprisoned  within  tTie  flesh  has  conscience  for  its  organ. 

1  The  letter  to  M.  de  Beaumont,  p.  24.  "  Rousseau  juge  de  Jean- Jacques,"  third  dia- 
logue, 193. 


224  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  in. 

"  O  Conscience,  divine  instinct,  immortal  and  celestial  voice,  the 
unfailing  guide  of  an  ignorant  and  finite  but  free  and  intelligent  be- 
ing, the  infallible  judge  between  good  and  evil,  and  which  renders 
man  similar  to  God,  thou  formest  the  superiority  of  his  nature!" 
Alongside  of  self-love,  by  which  we  subordinate  everything  to 
ourselves,  there  is  a  love  of  order  by  which  we  subordinate  ourselves 
to  the  whole.  Alongside  of  egotism,  by  which  man  seeks  happi- 
ness even  at  the  expense  of  others,  is  sympathy  by  which  he 
seeks  the  happiness  of  others  even  at  the  expense  of  his  own. 
Personal  enjoyment  does  not  suffice  him ;  he  still  needs  tranquil- 
lity of  conscience  and  the  effusions  of  the  heart.  Such  is  man 
as  God  designed  and  created  him ;  in  his  organization  there  is 
no  defect.  Inferior  elements  are  as  serviceable  as  the  superior 
elements ;  all  are  essential,  proportionate,  in  proper  place,  not 
only  the  heart,  the  conscience,  the  intellect,  and  the  faculties  by 
which  we  surpass  brutes,  but  again  the  inclinations  in  common 
with  animals,  the  instinct  of  self-preservation  and  of  self-defence, 
the  need  of  physical  activity,  sexual  appetite,  and  other  primitive 
impulses  as  we  observe  them  in  the  child,  the  savage  and  the 
uncultivated  man.1  None  of  these  in  themselves  are  either 
vicious  or  injurious.  None  are  too  strong,  even  the  love  of  self. 
None  come  into  play  out  of  season.  If  we  would  not  interfere 
with  them,  if  we  would  impose  no  constraint  on  them,  if  we 
would  permit  these  sparkling  fountains  to  flow  according  to  their 
bent,  if  we  would  not  confine  them  to  our  artificial  and  foul 
channels  we  should  never  see  them  boiling  over  and  becoming 
turbid.  We  look  with  wonder  on  their  ravages  and  on  their 
contaminations;  we  forget  that,  in  the  beginning,  they  were  pure 
and  undefiled.  The  fault  is  with  us,  in  our  social  arrangements,  in 
our  incrusted  and  formal  channels  whereby  we  cause  deviations 
and  windings  and  make  them  heave  and  bound.  "Your  very 
governments  are  the  cause  of  the  evils  which  they  pretend  to 
remedy.  Ye  scepters  of  iron!  ye  absurd  laws,  ye  we  reproach 
for  our  inability  to  fulfil  our  duties  on  earth ! "  Away  with 
these  dykes,  the  work  of  tyranny  and  routine!  An  emanci- 
pated nature  will  at  once  resume  a  direct  and  healthy  course  and 
man,  without  effort,  will  find  himself  not  alone  happy  but  virtuous.3 

>  "Emile,'1  boo*  I.  and  the  letter  to  M.  de  Beaumont,  passim. 

*  Article  1.  "All  Frenchmen  shall  be  virtuous."  Article  II.  "All  Frenchmen  shall  be 
happy."  (Draft  of  a  constitution  found  among  the  papers  of  Sismondi,  at  that  time  IE 
school.  ^ 


CIIAP.  in.          THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  DOCTRINE.  225 

On  this  principle  the  attack  begins :  there  is  none  that  is  pushed 
further,  nor  conducted  with  more  bitter  hostility.  Thus  far  ex 
isting  institutions  are  exhibited  simply  as  oppressive  and  unrea 
sonable;  they  are  now  charged  with  being  unjust  and  corrupting 
Reason  and  the  appetites  were  the  only  insubordinates ;  con 
science  and  pride  are  now  in  rebellion.  With  Voltaire  and  Mon 
tesquieu  fewer  evils  might  be  anticipated.  With  Diderot  and 
d'Holbach  the  horizon  discloses  only  a  glowing  Eldorado  01 
a  comfortable  Cythera.  With  Rousseau  I  behold  within  reach 
an  Eden  where  I  shall  immediately  recover  the  nobleness  insep- 
arable from  felicity.  It  is  my  right ;  nature  and  Providence  sum- 
mon me  to  it ;  it  is  my  heritage.  One  arbitrary  institution  alone 
keeps  me  away  from  it,  the  creator  of  my  vices  as  of  my 
misery.  With  what  rage  and  fury  will  I  overthrow  this  ancient 
barrier!  We  detect  this  in  the  vehement  tone,  in  the  embit- 
tered style,  and  in  the  sombre  eloquence  of  the  new  doctrine.  Hu- 
mor and  scurrility  are  no  longer  an  object;  a  serious  tone  is» 
maintained ;  people  become  exasperated,  while  the  powerful  voice 
now  heard  penetrates  beyond  the  drawing-room,  to  the  rude  and 
suffering  crowd  to  which  no  word  has  yet  been  spoken,  whose 
mute  resentment  for  the  first  time  finds  an  interpreter,  and  whose 
destructive  instincts  are  soon  to  be  set  in  motion  at  the  summons 
of  its  herald.  Rousseau  is  one  of  the  people  and  not  a  man  of 
society.  He  feels  awkward  in  a  drawing-room.1  He  is  not  capa- 
ble of  conversing  and  of  appearing  amiable;  his  wit  is  late, 
coming  to  him  on  the  steps  as  he  leaves  the  house;  he  keeps 
silent  with  a  sulky  air  or  utters  stupidities,  redeeming  his  awk- 
wardness with  the  sallies  of  a  clown  or  with  the  phrases  of  a 
vulgar  pedant.  Elegance  annoys  him,  luxuriousness  makes  him 
uncomfortable,  politeness  is  a  lie,  conversation  mere  prattle,  ease 
or  manner  a  grimace,  gayety  a  conventionalism,  wit  a  parade, 
science  so  much  charlatanry,  philosophy  an  affectation  and  mor- 
als utter  corruption.  All  is  factitious,  false  and  unwholesome,1 

1  "  Confessions,"  part  2,  book  IX.  368.  "  I  cannot  comprehend  how  any  one  can  converse 
in  a  circle.  ...  I  stammer  out  a  few  words,  with  no  meaning  in  them,  as  quickly  as  I  can, 
very  glad  if  they  convey  no  sense.  ...  I  should  be  as  fond  of  society  as  anybody  if  I  were 
not  certain  of  appearing  not  merely  to  disadvantage  but  wholly  different  from  what  I  really 
un."  Cf.  in  the  "  Nouvelle  Heloise,"  2d  part,  the  letter  of  Saint-Preux  on  Paris.  Also  in 
"  Emile,"  the  end  of  book  IV 

*  "Confessions,"  part  2,  IX.  361.  "I  was  so  weary  of  drawing-rooms,  of  jets  of  water, 
of  bowers,  of  flower-beds  and  of  those  that  showed  them  to  me ;  I  was  so  overwhelmed 
with  pamphlets,  harpsichords,  games,  knots,  stupid  witticisms,  simpering  looks,  petty  story 


126  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  in. 

from  the  paint,  toilet  and  beauty  of  women  to  the  atmosphere  Of 
the  apartments  and  the  ragouts  on  the  dinner- table,  in  sentiment 
as  in  amusement,  in  literature  as  in  music,  in  government  as  in 
religion.  This  civilization,  which  boasts  of  its  splendor,  is  simply 
the  restlessness  of  over-excited,  servile  monkeys  each  imitating  the 
other,  and  each  corrupting  the  other  to  attain  to  super-refinement, 
discomfort  and  ennui.  Human  culture,  accordingly,  is  in  itself 

f  bad,  while  the  fruit  it  produces  is  merely  excrescence  and  poison. 

I  Of  what  service  are  the  sciences  ?  Uncertain  and  useless,  they 
afford  merely  a  pasture-ground  for  idlers  and  wranglers.1  "  Who 
could  pass  a  lifetime  in  sterile  observation,  did  each  person,  con- 
sulting human  duties  and  nature's  demands,  bestow  his  time  on 
his  country,  on  the  unfortunate  and  on  his  friends  ?  "  Of  what 
use  are  the  fine  arts  ?  They  serve  only  as  public  flattery  of  domi- 
nant passions.  "The  more  pleasing  and  the  more  perfect  the 
drama,  the  more  baneful  its  influence;"  the  theatre,  even  with 
Moliere,  is  a  school  of  bad  morals,  "  inasmuch  as  it  excites  per- 
fidious souls  to  inflict  punishment,  under  the  guise  of  stupidity,  on 
the  candor  of  the  innocent."  Tragedy,  said  to  be  moralizing, 
wastes  in  counterfeit  effusions,  the  little  virtue  that  still  remains. 
"  After  a  man  has  seen  and  admired  admirable  conduct  in  fables 
what  more  is  expected  of  him  ?  After  paying  homage  to  virtue 
is  he  not  discharged  from  all  that  he  owes  to  it  ?  What  more 
would  they  have  him  do?  Must  he  practise  it  himself?  He 
has  no  part  to  play,  he  is  not  a  comedian."  The  sciences,  the 
fine  arts,  the  arts  of  luxury,  philosophy,  literature,  all  is  adapted 
to  enervating  and  dissipating  the  soul;  all  is  contrived  for  the 
Email  crowd  of  brilliant  and  noisy  insects  buzzing  around  ele- 
vated places  in  society  and  sucking  away  the  public  substance. 
In  the  way  of  science  but  one  is  important,  that  of  our  duties, 
and,  without  so  many  subtleties  and  so  much  study,  innate  senti- 
ment suffices  for  our  teaching.  In  the  way  of  the  arts  only  those 

tellers  and  heavy  suppers,  that  when  I  spied  out  a  corner  in  a  hedge,  a  bush,  a  bam,  a 
meadow,  or  when,  on  passing  through  a  hamlet,  I  caught  the  smell  of  a  good  parsely  omelet 
...  I  sent  to  the  devil  all  the  rouge,  furbelows  and  perfumery,  and,  regretting  a  plain  dinner 
and  common  wine,  I  would  gladly  have  pummelled  both  the  head  cook  and  the  master  of 
the  house  who  forced  me  to  dine  when  I  generally  supped  and  to  sup  when  I  generally  g« 
to  bed,  but  especially  the  lackeys  that  envied  me  every  morsel  1  ate  and  who,  at  the  risk  of 
my  dying  •with  thirst,  sold  me  the  drugged  wine  of  their  master  at  ten  times  the  price  I 
would  have  to  pay  for  better  wine  at  a  tavern." 

1  "  Discours  sur  'influence  des  sciences  et  d«s  arts  '    The  letter  to  d'Alembert  on  theatrt 
cal  performances. 


CHAP.  in.        THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  DOCTRINE.  227 

should  be  tolerated  which,  ministering  to  our  prime  necessities, 
provide  us  with  bread  for  our  support,  a  roof  to  shelter  us,  cloth- 
ing to  cover  our  bodies,  and  arms  with  which  to  defend  ourselves. 
In  the  way  of  existence  that  only  is  healthy  which  enables  us  to 
live  in  the  fields,  without  any  refinements,  without  display,  m 
family  union,  devoted  to  cultivation,  living  on  the  products  of  the 
soil  and  among  neighbors  that  are  equals  and  with  servants  that 
one  trusts  as  friends.  In  the  way  of  classes  but  one  is  respect- 
able, that  of  laboring  men,  especially  that  of  men  working 
with  their  own  hands,  artisans  and  mechanics,  only  these  be- 
ing really  of  service,  the  only  ones,  who,  through  their  situation, 
are  in  close  proximity  to  the  natural  state,  and  who  preserve, 
under  a  rough  exterior,  the  warmth,  the  goodness  and  the  integ- 
rity of  primitive  instincts.  Accordingly  call  by  its  true  name  this 
elegance,  this  luxury,  this  urbanity,  this  literary  delicacy,  this  phil- 
osophical eccentricity,  admired  by  the  prejudiced  as  the  flower  of 
the  life  of  humanity,  but  which  is  only  its  mould  and  moss.  In 
like  manner  esteem  at  its  just  value  the  swarm  that  live  upon  it, 
namely,  the  indolent  aristocracy,  the  fashionable  world,  the  privi- 
leged who  govern  and  make  a  display,  the  idlers  of  the  drawing- 
room  who  talk,  divert  themselves  and  regard  themselves  as  the 
elect  of  humanity,  but  who  are  simply  so  many  parasites. 
Whether  parasitic  or  excretory  one  attracts  the  other,  and  the 
tree  can  only  again  become  healthy  by  getting  rid  of  one  or 
the  other. 

If  civilization  is  bad,  society  is  worse.1  For  this  could  not  have 
been  established  except  by  destroying  primitive  equality,  while 
its  two  principal  institutions,  property  and  government,  are  usur- 
pations. "  He  who  first  enclosed  a  plot  of  ground,  and  who  took  ' 
it  into  his  head  to  say  this  belongs  to  me,  and  who  found  people 
simple  enough  to  believe  him,2  was  the  true  founder  of  civil  society. 
What  crimes,  what  wars,  what  murders,  what  misery  and  what  hor- 
rors would  have  been  spared  the  human  race  if  he  wlio,  pulling  up 
the  landmark  and  filling  up  the  ditch,  had  cried  out  to  his  fellows : 
Be  wary  of  that  impostor ;  you  are  lost  if  you  forget  that  no  one 
has  a  right  to  the  ground  and  that  its  fruits  are  the  property  of 

1  "Society  is  as  natural  to  the  human  species  as  decrepitude  to  the  individual  Thi 
people  require  aits,  laws,  and  governments,  as  old  men  require  crutches."  See  the  letter  to 
M.  Philopolis,  p.  248. 

'  See  the  discourse  on  the  "Origine  de  I'lne'galite',"  passim. 


228  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  IIL 

all ! "  The  first  property  right  was  a  robbery  by  which  an  indi 
vidual  abstracted  from  the  community  a  portion  of  the  public  do- 
main. Nothing  could  justify  the  outrage,  nothing  added  by  him 
to  the  soil,  neither  his  industry,  nor  his  trouble,  nor  his  valor. 
"  In  vain  may  he  assert  that  he  built  this  wall,  and  acquired  this 
land  by  his  labor.  Who  marked  it  out  for  him,  one  might  ask, 
and  how  do  you  come  to  be  paid  for  labor  which  was  never  im- 
posed on  you  ?  Are  you  not  aware  that  a  multitude  of  your  breth- 
ren are  suffering  and  perishing  with  want  because  you  have  too 
much,  and  that  the  express  and  unanimous  consent  of  the  whole 
human  species  is  requisite  before  appropriating  to  yourself  more 
than  your  share  of  the  common  subsistence  ?  "  Underneath  this 
theory  we  recognize  the  personal  animus,  the  rancor  of  the 
poor  embittered  plebeian,  who,  on  entering  society,  finds  the 
places  all  taken,  and  who  is  incapable  of  creating  one  for  himself, 
who,  in  his  confessions,  marks  the  day  when  he  ceased  to  feel  hun- 
gry, who,  for  lack  of  something  better,  lives  in  concubinage  with 
a  serving-woman  and  places  his  five  children  in  a  hospital,  who 
is,  in  turn,  valet,  clerk,  vagabond,  teacher  and  copyist,  always  on 
the  watch  and  making  shift  to  maintain  his  independence,  dis- 
gusted with  the  contrast  between  what  he  is  outwardly  and  what 
he  feels  himself  inwardly,  avoiding  envy  only  by  disparagement, 
and  preserving  in  the  folds  of  his  heart  an  old  grudge  "against 
the  rich  and  the  fortunate  in  this  world  as  if  they  were  so  at  his 
expense,  as  if  their  assumed  happiness  had  been  an  infringement 
on  his  happiness." l  Not  only  is  there  injustice  in  the  origin  of 
property  but  again  there  is  injustice  in  the  power  it  secures  to  it- 
self, the  wrong  increasing  like  a  canker  under  the  partiality  of 
law.  "Are  not  all  the  advantages  of  society  for  the  rich  and  for 
the  powerful?  Do  they  not  absorb  to  themselves  all  lucrative 
positions  ?  Is  not  the  public  authority  wholly  in  their  interest  ? 
If  a  man  of  position  robs  his  creditors  or  commits  other  offences 
is  he  not  certain  of  impunity  ?  Are  not  the  cudgellings  he  be- 
stows, his  violent  assaults,  the  murders  and  the  assassinations  he  is 
guilty  of,  matters  that  are  hushed  up  and  forgotten  in  a  few 
months  ?  Let  this  same  man  be  robbed  and  the  entire  police  set 
to  work,  and  woe  to  the  poor  innocents  they  suspect !  Has  he  to 
pass  a  dangerous  place,  escorts  overrun  the  country.  If  the  axle 

I «« Emfle,"  book  IV.  Rousseau's  narrative,  p.  13. 


CHAP.  in        THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  DOCTRINE.  229 

of  his  coach  breaks  down  everybody  runs  to  help  him.  Is  a  noise 
made  at  his  gate,  a  word  from  him  and  all  is  silent.  Does  the 
crowd  annoy  him,  he  makes  a  sign  and  order  reigns.  Does  a 
carter  chance  to  cross  his  path,  his  attendants  are  ready  to  knock 
the  man  down ;  fifty  honest  pedestrians  might  be  crushed  rather 
than  a  puppy  be  stopped  on  his  headlong  car  jer.  All  this  defer- 
ence to  him  costs  him  not  a  penny.  What  a  difference  in  the 
picture  of  the  poor !  The  more  humanity  owes  to  it  the  more 
society  refuses  it.  All  doors  are  closed  to  it  even  when  it  has 
the  right  to  have  them  opened,  and  if  it  sometimes  obtains 
justice  it  experiences  more  trouble  than  another  in  obtaining 
favors.  If  there  are  corvees  to  work  out,  a  miHtia  to  raise,  the 
poor  are  the  most  eligible.  It  always  bears  the  burden  of  which 
its  wealthier  neighbor  with  influence  secures  exemption.  At  the 
least  accident  to  a  poor  man  everybody  abandcns  him.  Let  his 
cart  upset  and  I  regard  him  as  fortunate  if  he  escapes  the  insults 
of  the  smart  companions  of  a  young  duke  passing  by.  In  a  word, 
all  gratuitous  assistance  is  withheld  from  him  in  time  of  need, 
precisely  because  he  cannot  pay  for  it  But,  above  all,  he  is  a 
lost  man  if  he  is  so  unfortunate  as  to  be  honest  and  have  a  pretty 
daughter  and  a  powerful  neighbor.  Let  us  sum  up  in  few 
words  the  social  pact  of  the  two  estates :  You  need  me  because  I 
am  rich  and  you  are  poor  :  let  us  then  make  an  agreement  together 
I  will  allow  you  the  honor  of  serving  me  on  condition  that  you  give 
me  the  little  that  remains  to  you  for  the  trouble  I  have  in  governing 
you" 

This  shows  the  spirit,  the  object  and  the  effect  of  political 
society.  At  the  start,  according  to  Rousseau,  it  consisted  of  an 
iniquitous  bargain,  made  by  an  adroit  rich  man  with  a  poor 
dupe,  "providing  new  fetters  for  the  weak  and  fresh  power 
for  the  rich,"  and,  under  the  title  of  legitimate  property,  hallow- 
ing the  usurpation  of  the  soil.  To-day  the  contract  is  still  more 
iniquitous  "as  a  child  may  govern  an  old  man,  a  fool  lead  the 
wise,  and  a  handful  of  people  burst  with  superfluities  whilst 
a  famished  multitude  lack  the  necessaries  of  life."  It  is  the 
nature  of  inequality  to  grow;  hence  the  authority  of  some  in- 
creases along  with  the  dependence  of  the  rest,  so  that  the  two 
conditions,  having  at  last  reached  their  extremes,  the  hereditary 
and  perpetual  subjection  of  the  people  seems  to  be  a  divine 
right  equally  with  the  hereditary  and  perpetual  despotism  of  the 
king. 


*30  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  in. 

This  is  the  present  condition  of  things  and  if  a  change  occurs 
it  is  for  the  worse.  "For,1  the  occupation  of  all  kings,  or  of 
those  charged  with  their  functions,  consists  wholly  of  two  ob- 
jects, to  extend  their  sway  abroad  and  to  render  it  more  absolute 
at  home."  If  any  other  aim  is  alleged  it  is  a  pretext.  "The 
terms  public  welfare,  happiness  of  subjects,  the  glory  of  the  na- 
tion, so  pretentiously  employed  in  public  edicts,  never  denote 
other  than  disastrous  commands,  and  the  people  shudder  be- 
forehand when  its  masters  allude  to  their  paternal  solicitude." 
However,  this  fatal  point  once  reached,  "the  contract  with  the 
government  is  dissolved ;  the  despot  is  master  only  while  remain- 
ing the  most  powerful,  and,  as  soon  as  he  can  be  expelled,  he  has 
no  reclamation  against  violence."  Right  exists  only  through 
consent,  and  no  consent  nor  right  can  exist  between  master  and 
slave.  "Whether  between  one  man  and  another  man,  or  be- 
tween one  man  and  a  people,  the  following  is  an  absurd  ad- 
dress: '/  make  an  agreement  with  you  wholly  at  your  expense 
and  to  my  advantage  which  I  shall  respect  as  long  as  I  please  and 
which  you  shall  respect  as  long  as  it  pleases  me.' "  Madmen  may 
sign  such  a  treaty,  but,  as  madmen,  they  are  not  in  a  condition  to 
negotiate  and  their  signature  is  not  binding.  Conquered  men, 
stricken  to  the  ground,  with  swords  pointed  at  their  throats,  may 
accept  such  conditions  but,  being  under  constraint,  their  promise 
is  null  and  void.  Madmen  and  the  conquered  may,  a  thousand 
years  ago,  have  bound  over  all  subsequent  generations,  but 
a  contract  for  a  minor  is  not  a  contract  for  an  adult,  and  on 
the  child  arriving  at  the  age  of  reason  he  belongs  to  him 
self.  We  at  last  have  become  adults,  and  we  have  only  to  ex 
amine  into  the  authority  calling  itself  legitimate  to  bring  its 
pretensions  to  their  just  value.  It  has  power  on  its  side  and 
nothing  more.  But  "A  pistol,  in  a  brigand's  hand  is  power," 
and  will  you  say  that  I  am  conscientiously  obliged  to  hand  him 
my  purse  ?  I  obey  through  force  and  I  will  have  my  purse  back 
if  I  can  take  his  pistol  away  from  him. 

VII. 

We  stop  here.  It  is  not  worth  while  to  follow  the  forlorn  hope 
of  the  party,  Naigeon  and  Sylvain  Mare"chal,  Mably  and  Morelly, 
ihe  fanatics  that  erected  atheism  into  an  obligatory  dogma  and 

I  "Discoui*  sur  1'Origine de  I'lnSgalitV  178.     "Central  Sodal,"  I.  ch.  iv. 


CHAP.  ni.          THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  DOCTRINE.  231 

into  a  superior  duty;  the  socialists  who,  to  suppress  egoism, 
propose  a  community  of  goods  and  who  found  a  republic  in 
which  any  man  that  proposes  to  re-establish  "  detestable  owner- 
ship" shall  be  declared  an  enemy  of  humanity,  treated  as  a 
"raging  maniac"  and  shut  up  in  a  dungeon  for  life.  It  is 
sufficient  to  have  studied  the  operations  of  large  armies  and  of 
great  campaigns.  With  different  resources  and  contrary  tactics,  " 
the  various  attacks  are  all  directed  to  the  same  end.  Every  in- 
stitution is  undermined  at  its  foundations.  The  dominant 
philosophy  withdraws  all  authority  from  custom,  from  religion,) 
from  the  State.  Not  only  is  it  admitted  that  tradition  in  itself  is 
false,  but  again  that  it  is  baneful  through  its  works,  that  it  builds 
up  injustice  on  error  and  that  by  rendering  man  blind  it  leads  to 
subjection.  Henceforth  it  is  proscribed.  Let  this  "infamous 
thing  "  with  its  upholders  be  crushed  out.  It  is  the  great  wrong 
of  the  human  species,  and,  when  suppressed,  only  the  right 
will  remain.  "  The  time  will  then  come1  when  the  sun  will  shine 
only  on  free  men  recognizing  no  other  master  than  reason ; 
when  tyrants  and  slaves,  and  priests  with  their  senseless  or 
hypocritical  instruments,  will  exist  only  in  history  and  on  the 
stage ;  when  attention  will  no  longer  be  bestowed  on  them 
except  to  pity  their  victims  and  their  dupes,  we  remaining 
vigilant  and  useful  through  horror  of  their  excesses,  and  able  to 
recognize  and  extinguish  by  the  force  of  reason  the  first  germs 
of  superstition  and  of  tyranny,  should  they  ever  venture  to 
reappear."  The  millennium  is  approaching  and  reason  must 
again  reorganize.  We  are  thus  to  owe  everything  to  its  salu- 
tary authority,  the  foundation  of  the  new  order  of  things  as  well 
as  the  destruction  of  the  old  one. 

1  Co&dorcet,  "Tableau  dei  progrei  de  Pesprit  hamain,"  the  tenth  epoch. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  ORGANIZATION  OF  SOCIETY  IN  THE  FUTURE. — I.  The  mathematical 
method. — Definition  of  man  in  the  abstract. — The  social  contract. — Inde- 
pendence and  equality  of  the  contractors. — All  equal  before  the  law  and  each 
sharing  in  the  sovereignty. — II.  The  first  result. — The  theory  easily  ap- 
plied.— Confidence  in  it  due  to  belief  in  man's  inherent  goodness  and  reason- 
ableness.— III.  The  inadequacy  and  fragility  of  reason  in  man. — The  rarity 
and  inadequacy  of  reason  in  humanity. — Subordination  of  reason  in  human 
conduct. — Brutal  and  dangerous  forces. — The  nature  and  utility  of  govern- 
ment.— Government  impossible  under  the  new  theory — IV.  The  second  re- 
sult.— The  new  theory  leads  to  despotism. — Precedents  for  this  theory. — Ad- 
ministrative centralization. — The  Utopia  of  the  Economists. — Invalidity  of 
preceding  rights. — Collateral  associations  not  tolerated. — Complete  surren- 
der of  the  individual  to  the  community. — Rights  of  the  State  in  relation  to 
property,  education  and  religion. — The  State  a  Spartan  convent. — V. 
Complete  triumph  and  last  excesses  of  classic  reason. — How  it  becomes 
monomania. — Why  its  work  is  not  enduring. 

I. 

CONSIDER  future  society  as  it  appears  at  this  moment  to  our 
legislators  of  the  closet  and  bear  in  mind  that  it  will  soon  appear 
under  the  same  aspect  to  the  legislators  of  the  Assembly.  In 
their  eyes  the  decisive  moment  has  come.  Henceforth  two  his- 
tories are  to  exist ; *  one,  that  of  the  past,  the  other,  that  of  the 
future,  formerly  a  history  of  man  still  deprived  of  his  reason, 
and  at  present  the  history  of  the  rational  man.  At  length 
the  rule  of  right  is  to  begin.  Of  all  that  the  past  has  founded 
and  transmitted  nothing  is  legitimate.  Overlaying  the  natural 
man  it  has  created  an  artificial  man,  either  ecclesiastic  or  laic, 
noble  or  plebeian,  sovereign  or  subject,  proprietor  or  proletary, 
ignorant  or  cultivated,  peasant  or  citizen,  slave  or  master,  all  be- 
ing factitious  qualities  which  we  are  not  to  heed,  as  their  origin  is 
tainted  with  violence  and  robbery.  Strip  off  these  superadded 

1  Barrere,  "Point  du  jour,"  No.  i,  (June  15,  1789).  "You  are  summoned  to  give  history 
*  freah  start" 


CHAP.  IV.  THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  DOCTRINE.  233 

garments;  let  us  take  man  in  himself,  the  same  under  all  con- 
ditions, in  all  situations,  in  all  countries,  in  all  ages,  and  strive  to 
ascertain  what  sort  of  association  is  the  best  adapted  to  him. 
The  problem  thus  stated  the  rest  follows. 

Conformably  to  the  ways  of  the  classic  spirit,  and  to  the  pre- 
cepts of  the  prevailing  ideology,  a  political  system  is  constructed 
after  a  mathematical  model.1  A  simple  proposition  is  selected, 
and  set  apart,  very  general,  familiar,  readily  apparent,  and  easily 
understood  by  the  most  ignorant  and  inattentive  schoolboy. 
Reject  every  difference  which  separates  one  man  from  other 
men;  retain  of  him  only  the  portion  common  to  him  and  to 
others.  This  remainder  constitutes  man  in  general,  or  in  other 
words,  "a  sensitive  and  rational  being  who,  thus  endowed,  avoids 
pain  and  seeks  pleasure,"  and  therefore  aspiring  to  "happiness, 
namely,  a  stable  condition  in  which  one  enjoys  greater  pleasure 
than  pain,"2  or,  again,  "a  sensitive  being -capable  of  forming 
rational  opinions  and  of  acquiring  moral  ideas."3  The  first 
comer  is  cognizant  of  this  notion  in  his  own  experience,  and  can 
verify  it  at  the  first  glance.  Such  is  the  social  unit ;  let  several 
of  these  be  combined,  a  thousand,  a  hundred  thousand,  a  million, 
twenty-six  millions,  and  you  have  the  French  people.  Men 
born  at  twenty-one  years  of  age,  without  relations,  without  a 
past,  without  traditions,  without  a  country,  are  supposed  to  be 
assembled  for  the  first  time  and,  for  the  first  time,  to  treat  with 
each  other.  In  this  position,  at  the  moment  of  contracting 
together,  all  are  equal :  for,  as  the  definition  states,  the  extrinsic 
and  spurious  qualities  through  which  alone  all  differ  have  been 
rejected.  All  are  free,  for,  according  to  the  definition,  the  unjust 
thraldom  imposed  on  all  by  brute  force  and  by  hereditary  preju- 
dice, has  been  suppressed.  But,  if  all  men  are  equal,  no  rea- 
son exists  why,  in  this  contract,  any  special  advantage  should  be 
conceded  to  one  more  than  to  another.  Accordingly  all  shall 
be  equal  before  the  law ;  no  person,  or  family,  or  class,  shall  be 
allowed  any  privilege;  no  one  shall  claim  a  right  of  which 

1  Condorcet,  ibid.  "  The  methods  of  the  mathematical  sciences,  applied  to  new  objects, 
have  opened  new  roads  to  the  moral  and  political  sciences."  Cf.  Rousseau,  in  the  "  Central 
Social,"  the  mathematical  calculation  of  the  fraction  of  sovereignty  to  which  each  individual 
is  entitled. 

*  Saint-Lambert,  "Cat£chisme  universel,"  the  first  dialogue,  p.  17. 

*  Condorcet,  ibid,,  ninth  epoch.     "From  this  single  truth  the  publicists  have  been  able  to 
deriie  the  rights  of  man." 

2O* 


234  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  in, 

another  might  be  deprived ;  no  one  shall  be  subject  to  any  duty 
of  which  another  is  exempted.  On  the  other  hand,  all  being 
free,  each  enters  with  a  free  will  along  with  the  group  of  wills 
constituting  the  new  community;  it  is  necessary  that  in  the 
common  resolutions,  he  should  fully  concur.  Only  on  these 
conditions  does  he  bind  himself;  he  is  bound  to  respect  laws 
only  because  he  has  assisted  in  making  them,  and  to  obey  magis- 
trates only  because  he  has  aided  in  electing  them.  Underneath 
all  legitimate  authority  his  consent  or  his  vote  must  be  apparent, 
while,  in  the  humblest  citizen,  the  most  exalted  of  public  powers 
must  recognize  a  member  of  their  own  sovereignty.  No  one 
may  alienate  or  lose  this  portion  of  his  sovereignty;  it  is  in- 
separable from  his  person,  and,  on  delegating  it  to  another,  he 
reserves  to  himself  full  possession  of  it.  The  liberty,  equality 
and  sovereignty  of  the  people  constitute  the  first  articles  of  the 
social  contract.  These  are  rigorously  deduced  from  a  primary 
definition ;  other  rights  of  the  citizen  are  to  be  no  less  rigorously 
deduced  from  it,  the  main  features  of  the  constitution,  the  most 
important  civil  and  political  laws,  in  short,  the  order,  the  form 
and  the  spirit  of  the  new  state. 

II. 

Hence,  two  consequences.  In  the  first  place,  a  society  thus 
organized  is  the  only  just  one;  for,  the  reverse  of  all  others, 
it  is  not  the  result  of  a  blind  subjection  to  traditions,  but  of 
a  contract  concluded  among  equals,  examined  in  open  daylight, 
and  assented  to  in  full  freedom.1  The  social  contract,  composed 

v  of  demonstrated  theorems,  has  the  authority  of  geometry ;  hence 
an  equal  value  at  all  times,  in  every  place,  and  for  every  people ; 
it  is  accordingly  rightfully  established,  ^hatever  interposes  any 
obstacle  thereto  is  inimical  to  the  human  race ;  whether  a  govern  - 

-ment,  an  aristocracy  or  a  clergy,  it  must  be  overthrown.     Revolt 

1  Rousseau  still  entertained  admiration  for  Montesquieu  but,  at  the  same  time,  with  some 
reservation ;  afterwards,  however,  the  theory  developed  itself,  every  historical  right  being  re- 
jected. "Then,"  says  Condorcet,  (ibid.,  ninth  epoch),  "they  found  themselves  obliged  to 
abandon  a  false  and  crafty  policy  which,  forgetful  of  men  deriving  equal  rights  through 
their  nature,  attempted  at  one  time  to  estimate  those  allowed  to  them  according  to  extent 
of  territory,  the  temperature  of  the  climate,  the  national  character,  the  wealth  of  the  popula- 
tion, the  degree  of  perfection  of  their  commerce  and  industries,  and  again  to  apportion  the 
same  rights  unequally  among  diverse  classes  of  men,  bestowing  them  on  birth,  riches  and 
professions,  and  thus  creating  opposite  interests  and  opposite  powers,  for  the  purpose  of 
subsequently  establishing  an  equilibrium  alone  rendered  necessary  by  these  institutions  them. 
•elve*  and  which  the  danger  of  their  tendencies  by  no  means  corrects." 


CHAP.  IV.          THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  DOCTRINE.  235 

is  simply  just  defence ;  in  withdrawing  ourselves  from  such  hands 
we  only  recover  what  has  been  wrongfully  retained  and  which 
legitimately  belongs  to  us.  In  the  second  place,  this  social  code, 
as  just  set  forth,  once  promulgated,  is  applicable  without  mis- 
conception or  resistance;  for  it  is  a  species  of  moral  geometry, 
simpler  than  any  other,  reduced  to  first  principles,  founded  on 
the  clearest  and  most  popular  notions,  and,  in  four  steps,  leading 
to  capital  truths.  The  comprehension  and  application  of  these 
truths  demand  no  preparatory  study  or  profound  reflection ;  good 
sense  suffices,  and  even  common  sense.  Prejudice  and  selfish- 
ness alone  impair  the  testimony;  but  never  will  testimony  be 
wanting  in  a  sound  brain  and  in  an  upright  heart.  Explain  the 
rights  of  man  to  a  laborer  or  to  a  peasant  and  at  once  he  be- 
comes an  able  politician;  teach  children  the  citizen's  catechism 
and  on  leaving  school  they  comprehend  duties  and  rights  as  well 
as  the  four  arithmetical  principles.  Thereupon  hope  spreads 
her  wings  to  the  fullest  extent  and  all  obstacles  seem  removed. 
It  is  admitted  that  of  itself,  and  through  its  own  force,  the  theory 
engenders  its  own  application ;  it  suffices  for  men  to  decree 
or  accept  the  social  compact  to  acquire  under  this  same  act, 
at  once  a  capacity  for  comprehending  it  and  the  disposition  to 
carry  it  out. 

Such  trust,  marvellous,  and,  at  the  first  glance,  inexplicable, 
supposes,  in  regard  to  man,  an  idea  which  we  no  longer  pos- 
sess. Man,  indeed,  was  regarded  as  essentially  good  and  rea- 
sonable. Reasonable,  that  is  to  say,  capable  of  assenting  to  a 
clearly  defined  principle,  of  following  an  ulterior  chain  of  argu- 
ments, of  understanding  and  accepting  a  final  conclusion,  of  ex- 
tracting for  himself,  on  the  occasion  calling  for  it,  the  varied  con- 
sequences to  which  it  leads :  such  is  the  ordinary  man  in  the  eyes 
of  the  writers  of  the  day ;  they  judge  him  by  themselves.  To 
them  the  human  intellect  is  their  own,  the  classic  intellect.  For 
a  hundred  and  fifty  years  it  rules  in  literature,  in  philosophy,  in 
science,  in  education,  in  conversation,  by  virtue  of  tradition,  of 
usage  and  of  good  taste.  No  other  is  tolerated  and  no  other  is 
imagined,  and  if,  within  this  closed  circle,  a  stranger  succeeds  in 
introducing  himself  it  is  on  condition  of  adopting  the  oratorical 
idiom  which  the  raison  raisonnante  imposes  on  all  its  guests,  on 
Greeks,  Englishmen,  barbarians,  peasants  and  savages,  how- 
ever different  from  each  other  and  however  different  they  may  be 


236  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  in. 

amongst  themselves.  In  Buffon,  the  first  man,  on  narrating  the 
first  hours  of  his  being,  analyzes  his  sensations,  emotions  and  im- 
pulses, with  as  much  subtlety  as  Condillac  himself.  With 
Didejot,  Otou  the  Otaheitian,  with  Bernardin_de,«St  Pierre,  a 
semi-savage  Hindoo  and  an  old  colonist  of  the  Ile-de-France, 
with  RoussejiujajiQiiii&y^caT,  ^,  gardener  and  a  juggler,  are  ac- 
complished conversationists  and  moralists.  In  Marmontel  and 
in  Florian,  in  all  the  literature  of  inferior  rank  preceding  01  ac- 
'  company  ing  the  Revolution,  also  in  the  tragic  or  comic  diama, 
the  chief  talent  of  the  personage,  whoever  he  may  be,  whether 
an  uncultivated  rustic,  tattooed  barbarian  or  naked  savage,  con- 
sists in  explaining  himself,  in  arguing  and  in  following  an 
abstract  discourse  with  intelligence  and  attention,  in  tracing  for 
himself,  or  in  the  footsteps  of  a  guide,  the  rectilinear  pathway  of 
general  ideas.  Thus,  to  observers  in  the  eighteenth  century, 
reason  is  everywhere  and  she  stands  alone  in  the  world.  A 
form  of  intellect  so  universal  necessarily  strikes  them  as  natural ; 
they  resemble  people  who,  speaking  but  one  language,  and  one 
they  have  always  spoken  with  facility,  cannot  imagine  any  other 
language  being  spoken  or  that  they  may  be  surrounded  by  the 
deaf  and  the  dumb.  And  so  much  the  more  inasmuch  as  their 
theory  authorizes  this  prejudice.  According  to  the  new  ideology 
all  minds  are  within  reach  of  all  truths.  If  the  mind  does  not 
attain  to  them  the  fault  is  ours  in  not  being  properly  prepared ;  it 
will  attain  to  them  if  we  take  the  trouble  to  guide  it  properly. 
For  it  has  senses  the  same  as  our  own,  and  sensations,  revived, 
combined  and  noted  by  signs,  suffice  to  form  "not  only  all  our 
conceptions  but  again  all  our  faculties." *  An  exact  and  constant 
filiation  of  ideas  attaches  our  simplest  perceptions  to  the  most 
complex  sciences  and,  from  the  lowest  to  the  highest  degree,  a 
scale  is  practicable ;  if  the  scholar  stops  on  the  way  it  is  owing 
to  our  having  left  too  great  an  interval  between  two  degrees  of 
the  scale;  let  no  intermediary  degrees  be  omitted  and  he  wiT 
mount  to  the  top  of  it. — To  this  exalted  idea  of  the  faculties  of 
man  is  added  a  no  less  exalted  idea  of  his  heart.  Rousseau  hav- 
ing declared  this  to  be  naturally  good,  the  refined  class  plunge  into 
the  belief  with  all  the  exaggerations  of  fashion  and  all  the  senti- 
mentality of  the  drawing-room.  The  conviction  is  widespread  that 

1  Condillac.  "  Logique. ' 


CHAP.  IV.          THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  DOCTRINE.  237 

man,  and  especially  the  man  of  the  people^  is  sensitive  and  affec- 
tionate by  nature,  that  he  is  immediately  impressed  by  benefac- 
tions and  disposed  to  be  gratefuLfbr  them,  that  he  softens  at  the 
slightest  sign  of  interest  in^him,  and  that  he  is  capable  of  every 
refinement.  A  series  of  engravings  represents  two  children  in  a 
dilapidated  cottage,1  one  five  and  the  other  three  years  of  age,  by 
the  side  of  an  infirm  grandmother,  one  supporting  her  head  and  the 
other  giving  her  drink;  the  father  and  mother  enter  and,  on  seeing 
this  touching  incident,  "these  good  people  find  themselves  so 
happy  hi  possessing  such  children  they  forget  they  are  poor." 
"  Oh,  my  father,"  cries  a  shepherd  youth  of  the  Pyrenees,2  "  accept 
this  faithful  dog,  so  true  to  me  for  seven  years;  in  future  let  him  fol- 
low and  defend  you,  for  never  will  he  have  served  me  so  usefully." 
It  would  require  too  much  space  to  follow  in  the  literature  of  the 
end  of  the  century,  from  Marmontel  to  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre, 
and  from  Florian  to  Berquin  and  Bitaube,  the  interminable  repeti- 
tion of  these  sweetinsipidities.  The  illusion  even  reaches  states- 
men. "  SireT'lays  Turgot,  on  presenting  the  king  with  a  plan  of 
political  education,3  "I  venture  to  assert  that  in  ten  years  your 
nation  will  no  longer  be  recognizable,  and  through  enlighten- 
ment and  good  morals,  in  intelligent  zeal  for  your  service  and  for 
the  country,  it  will  rise  above  all  other  nations.  Children  who 
are  now  ten  years  of  age  will  then  be  men  prepared  for  the 
state,  loving  their  country,  submissive  to  authority,  not  through 
fear  but  through  reason,  aiding  their  fellow-citizens,  and  accus- 
tomed to  recognizing  and  respecting  justice."  In  the  month  of 
January,  1789,*  Necker,  to  whom  M.  de  Bouille*  pointed  out  the 
imminent  danger  arising  from  the  inevitable  usurpation  of  the 
Third-Estate,  "coldly  replied,  turning  his  eyes  upward,  'reliance 
must  be  placed  on  the  moral  virtues  of  man.' "  In  the  main, 
on  the  imagination  forming  any  conception  of  human  society,  this 
consists  of  a  vague,  semi-bucolic,  semi-theatric  scene,  somewhat 

1  "Histoire  de  France  par  Estamps,"  1789. 

*  Mme.  de  Genlis,  "Souvenirs  de  F^licie,"  371-391. 

1  De  Tocqueville,  "L'Ancien  regime,"  237.  Cf.  "L'an  2440,"  by  Mercier,  III.  vols.  On« 
of  these  imaginings  in  all  its  details  may  be  found  here.  The  work  was  first  published  in 
1770.  "  The  Revolution,"  says  one  of  the  characters,  "  was  brought  about  without  an  effort, 
through  the  heroism  of  a  great  man,  a  royal  philosopher  worthy  of  power,  because  he  de- 
spised it,"  etc.  (Tome  II.  109.) 

*  "M6moires  de  M.  de  Bouill6,"  p.  70.     Cf.  Barante,  "Tableau  de  la  litt.  francaise  au  dix- 
huitieme  siecle,"  p.  318.     "Civilization  and  enlightenment  were  supposed  to  have  allayed  al 
passions  and  softened  all  characters.     It  seemed  as  if  morality  had  become  easy  of  practict 
and  that  the  balance  of  social  order  was  so  well  adjusted  that  nothing  could  disturb  it" 


238  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  in 

resembling  those  displayed  on  the  frontispieces  of  the  illustrated 
works  on  morals  and  politics.  Half-naked  men  with  others 
clothed  in  skins,  assemble  together  under  a  large  oak  tree ;  in  the 
centre  of  the  group  a  venerable  old  man  arises  and  makes  an 
address,  using  "the  language  of  nature  and  reason,"  proposing 
that  all  should  be  united,  and  explaining  how  men  are  bound  to- 
gether by  mutual  obligations;  he  shows  them  the  harmony  of 
private  and  of  public  interests,  and  ends  by  making  them  sensible 
of  the  beauties  of  virtue.1  All  utter  shouts  of  joy,  embrace  each 
other,  gather  round  the  speaker  and  elect  him  chief  magistrate ; 
dancing  is  going  on  under  the  branches  in  the  background  and 
henceforth  happiness  on  earth  is  fully  established.  This  is  no 
exaggeration.  The  National  Assembly  addresses  the  nation  in 
harangues  of  this  style.  For  many  years  the  government  speaks 
to  the  people  as  it  would  to  one  of  Gessner's  shepherds.  The 
peasants  are  entreated  not  to  burn  castles  because  it  is  painful  for 
their  good  king  to  see  such  sights.  They  are  exhorted  "  to  sur- 
prise him  with  their  virtues  in  order  that  he  may  be  the  sooner 
rewarded  for  his  own."2  At  the  height  of  the  Jacquerie  tu- 
mults the  sages  of  the  day  seem  to  think  they  are  living  in  a  state 
of  pastoral  simplicity  and  that  with  an  air  on  the  flute  they  may 
restore  to  its  fold  the  howling  pack  of  bestial  animosities  and 
unchained  appetites. 

III. 

It  is  a  sad  thing  to  fall  asleep  in  a  sheepcot  and,  on  awaken- 
ing, to  find  the  sheep  transformed  into  wolves.  And  yet,  in  case 
of  a  revolution  this  is  what  we  may  expect.  What  we  call  reason 
in  man  is  not  an  innate  endowment,  primitive  and  enduring,  but 
a  tardy  acquisition  and  a  fragile  composition.  The  slightest 
physiological  knowledge  suffices  to  show  that  it  is  a  state  of  un- 
stable equilibrium,  dependent  on  the  no  less  greater  instability  of 
the  brain,  nerves,  circulation  and  digestion.  Take  women  that 
are  hungry  and  men  that  have  been  drinking ;  place  a  thousand 
of  these  together,  and  let  them  excite  each  other  with  their  ex- 
clamations, their  anxieties,  and  the  contagious  reaction  of  their 

1  See  in  Rousseau,  In  the  "Lettre  &  M.  de  Beaumont,"  a  scene  of  this  description,  tne 
establishment  of  deism  and  toleration,  associated  with  a  similar  discourse. 

*  Roux  et  Buchez,  "Histoire  parlementaire,"  IV.  322,  the  address  made  on  the  nth  Feb., 
1790.  "What  an  affecting  and  sublime  address,  '  says  a  deputy.  It  was  greeted  by  th« 
Aiiembly  with  "unparalleled  ipplause."  The  whole  address  should  be  quoted  entfre. 


CHAP.  IV.          THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  DOCTRINE.  239 

ever-increasing  emotions;  it  will  not  be  long  before  you  find  them 
a  crowd  of  dangerous  maniacs.  This  is  evident  in  1789  and 
more  besides. — Now,  interrogate  psychology.  The  simplest  men- 
tal operation,  a  sensuous  perception,  an  act  of  memory,  the  ap- 
pliance of  a  name,  an  ordinary  act  of  judgment  is  the  play  of 
complicated  mechanism,  the  joint  and  final  result  of  several  mill- 
ions of  wheels  which,  like  those  of  a  clock,1  turn  and  propel 
blindly,  each  for  itself,  each  through  its  own  force,  and  each  kept 
in  place  and  in  functional  activity  by  a  system  of  balance  and 
compensation.  If  the  hands  mark  the  hour  with  any  degree  of 
accuracy  it  is  due  to  a  wonderful  if  not  miraculous  conjunction, 
while  hallucination,  delirium  and  monomania,  ever  at  the  door, 
are  always  ready  to  enter  it.  Properly  speaking  man  is  imbecile,  \ 
as  the  body  is  morbid,  by  nature ;  the  health  of  our  mind,  like ' 
the  health  of  our  organs,  is  simply  a  repeated  achievement  and  a 
happy  accident.  If  such  happens  to  be  the  case  with  the  coarse 
woof  and  canvas,  with  the  large  and  approximatively  strong 
threads  of  our  intellect,  what  risks  are  imminent  for  the  ulterior 
and  superadded  embroidery,  the  subtle  and  complicated  netting 
forming  reason  properly  so  called  and  which  is  composed  of 
general  ideas  ?  Formed  by  a  slow  and  delicate  process  of  weav- 
ing, through  a  long  system  of  signs,  amidst  the  agitations  of 
pride,  of  enthusiasm  and  of  dogmatic  obstinacy,  how  many 
chances  there  are,  even  in  the  most  perfect  brain,  of  these  ideas 
inadequately  corresponding  with  outward  things!  All  that  we 
require  in  this  connection  is  to  witness  the  operation  of  the  idyl  in 
vogue  with  the  philosophers  and  politicians.  These  being  the 
superior  minds,  what  can  be  said  of  the  masses  of  the  people,  of 
the  uncultivated  or  semi-cultivated  brains  ?  Not  only  is  reason 
crippled  in  man,  but  it  is  rare  in  humanity.  General  ideas 
and  accurate  reasoning  are  found  only  in  a  select  few.  The 
comprehension  of  abstract  terms  and  the  habit  of  making  accu- 
rate deductions  requires  previous  and  special  preparation,  a  pro- 
longed mental  exercise  and  steady  practice,  and  besides  this, 
where  political  matters  are  concerned,  a  degree  of  composure 
which,  affording  every  facility  for  reflection,  enables  a  man  to  de- 
tach himself  for  a  moment  from  himself  for  the  consideration  of 
his  interests  as  a  disinterested  observer.  If  one  of  these  con- 

1  The  number  of  cerebral  cells  is  estimated  (the  cortical  layer),  at  twelve  \  undred  million* 
and  the  fibres  binding  them  together  at  four  thousand  millions. 


240  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  HI. 

ditions  Is  wanting,  reason,  especially  in  relation  to  politics,  is  ab- 
sent. In  a  peasant  or  a  villager,  in  any  man  brought  up  from  in- 
fancy to  manual  labor,  not  only  is  the  network  of  superior  con- 
ceptions defective,  but  again  the  internal  machinery  by  which 
they  are  woven  is  not  perfected.  Accustomed  to  the  open  air,  to 
the  exercise  of  his  limbs,  his  attention  flags  if  he  stands  inactive 
for  a  quarter  of  an  hour ;  generalized  expressions  find  their  way 
into  his  mind  only  as  sound ;  the  mental  combination  they  ought 
to  excite  cannot  be  produced.  He  becomes  drowsy  unless  a 
powerful  vibrating  voice  contagiously  arouses  in  him  the  instincts 
of  flesh  and  blood,  the  personal  cravings,  the  secret  enmities  which, 
restrained  by  outward  discipline,  are  always  readv  to  be  set  free. 
In  the  half-cultivated  mind,  even  with  the  man  who  thinks  himself 
cultivated  and  who  reads  the  newspapers,  principles  are  generally 
disproportionate  guests;  they  are  above  his  comprehension;  he 
does  not  measure  their  bearings,  he  does  not  appreciate  their 
limitations,  he  is  insensible  to  their  restrictions  and  he  fal- 
sifies their  application.  They  are  like  those  preparations  of 
the  laboratory  which,  harmless  in  the  chemist's  hands,  become 
destructive  in  the  street  under  the  feet  of  passing  people.  Too 
soon  will  this  be  apparent  when,  in  the  name  of  popular 
sovereignty,  each  commune,  each  mob,  shall  regard  itself  as  the 
nation  and  act  accordingly;  when  reason,  in  the  hands  of  its  new 
interpreters  shall  inaugurate  riots  in  the  streets  and  peasant  in- 
surrections in  the  fields. 

This  is  owing  to  the  philosophers  of  the  age  having  been 
mistaken  in  two  ways.  Not  only  is  reason  not  natural  to  man 
nor  universal  in  humanity,  but  again,  in  the  conduct  of  man  and 
of  humanity,  its  influence  is  small.  Except  with  a  few  cool  and 
:lear  intellects,  a  Fontenelle,  a  Hume,  a  Gibbon,  with  whom  it 
nay  prevail  because  it  encounters  no  rivals,  it  is  very  far  from 
>laying  the  leading  part ;  it  belongs  to  other  forces  born  within  us, 
end  which,  by  virtue  of  being  the  first  comers,  remain  in  posses- 
sion of  the  field.  The  place  obtained  by  reason  is  always  restricted ; 
the  office  it  fulfils  is  generally  secondary.  Openly  or  secretly, 
it  is  only  a  convenient  subaltern,  a  domestic  advocate  unceasingly 
suborned,  employed  by  the  proprietors  to  plead  in  their  be- 
half; if  they  yield  it  precedence  in  public  it  is  only  through 
decorum.  Vainly  do  they  proclaim  it  the  recognized  sovereign; 
they  grant  it  only  a  passing  authority,  and,  under  its  nominal 


CHAP.  iv.          THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  DOCTRINE.  241 

control,  they  remain  the  inward  masters.  These  masters  of 
man  consist  of  physical  temperament,  bodily  needs,  animal 
instinct,  hereditary  prejudice,  imagination,  generally  the  dominant 
passion,  and  more  particularly  personal  or  family  interest,  also  that 
of  caste  or  party.  We  should  labor  under  serious  error  were  we 
to  suppose  ourselves  naturally  good,  generous,  sympathetic,  or, 
even  at  the  least,  gentle,  pliable,  and  ready  to  sacrifice  ourselves 
to  social  interests  or  to  those  of  others.  There  are  several  of  them, 
and  of  the  most  powerful  kind,  and  which,  if  left  to  themselves, 
would  make  only  havoc.  In  the  first  place,  if  there  is  no  certainty 
of  man  being  a  remote  blood  cousin  of  the  monkey,  it  is  at  least 
certain  that,  in  his  structure,  he  is  an  animal  closely  related  to  the 
monkey,  provided  with  canine  teeth,  carnivorous,  formerly  cannibal 
and,  therefore,  a  hunter  and  bellicose.  Hence  there  is  in  him  a 
steady  substratum  of  brutality  and  ferocity,  and  of  violent  and 
destructive  instincts,  to  which  must  be  added,  if  he  is  French, 
gayety,  laughter,  and  a  strange  propensity  to  gambol  and  act 
insanely  in  the  havoc  he  makes ; — we  shall  see  him  at  work.  In 
the  second  place,  at  the  outset,  his  condition  casts  him  naked  and 
destitute  on  an  ungrateful  soil  on  which  subsistence  is  difficult, 
where,  at  the  risk  of  death,  he  is  obliged  to  save  and  to  economize. 
Hence  a  constant  preoccupation  and  the  rooted  idea  of  acquiring, 
accumulating,  and  possessing,  rapacity  and  avarice,  more  partic- 
ularly in  the  class  which,  tied  to  the  glebe,  fasts  for  sixty 
generations  in  order  to  support  other  classes  and  whose  crooked 
fingers  are  always  outstretched  to  clutch  the  soil  whose  fruits 
they  cause  to  grow ; — we  shall  see  this  class  at  work.  Finally, 
his  more  delicate  mental  organization  makes  of  him  from  the 
earliest  days  an  imaginative  being  in  which  swarming  fancies 
develop  themselves  into  monstrous  chimeras  to  expand  his 
hopes,  fears  and  desires  beyond  all  bounds.  Hence  an  excess  of 
sensibility,  sudden  outbursts  of  emotion,  contagious  transports, 
irresistible  currents  of  passion,  epidemics  of  credulity  and  suspi- 
cion, in  short,  enthusiasm  and  panic,  especially  if  he  is  French, 
that  is  to  say,  excitable  and  communicative,  easily  thrown  off  his 
balance  and  prompt  to  accept  foreign  impulsion,  deprived  of  the 
natural  ballast  which  a  phlegmatic  temperament  and  the  concen- 
tration of  lonely  meditations  secure  to  his  German  or  Latin 
neighbors ; — and  all  this  we  shall  see  at  work.  These  constitute 
some  of  the  brute  forces  that  control  human  life.  In  ordinary 

21 


242  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  in, 

times  we  pay  no  attention  to  them ;  being  subordinated  they  do 
not  seem  to  us  formidable.  We  take  it  for  granted  that  they  are 
allayed  and  pacified;  we  flatter  ourselves  that  the  discipline 
imposed  on  them  has  made  them  natural,  and  that  by  dint  of 
flowing  between  dykes  they  are  settled  down  into  their  accus- 
tomed beds.  The  truth  is  that,  like  all  brute  forces,  like  a  stream 
or  a  torrent,  they  only  remain  in  these  under  constraint ;  it  is  the 
dyke  which,  through  its  resistance,  produces  this  moderation. 
Another  force  equal  to  their  force  had  to  be  installed  against  their 
outbreaks  and  devastations,  graduated  according  to  their  scale,  all 
the  firmer  as  they  are  more  menacing,  despotic  if  need  be  against 
their  despotism,  in  any  event  constraining  and  repressive,  at  the 
outset  a  feudal  chief,  later  an  army  general,  all  modes  consisting 
in  an  elective  or  hereditary  gendarme,  possessing  vigilant  eyes  and 
vigorous  arms,  and  who,  with  blows,  excites  fear  and,  through 
fear,  maintains  order.  In  the  regulation  and  limitation  of  his 
blows  divers  instrumentalities  are  employed,  a  pre-established 
constitution,  a  division  of  powers,  a  code  of  laws,  tribunals,  and 
legal  formalities.  At  the  bottom  of  all  these  wheels  ever  appears 
the  principal  lever,  the  efficacious  instrument,  namely,  the 
gendarme  armed  against  the  savage,  brigand  and  madman  each 
of  us  harbors,  in  repose  or  manacled,  but  always  living,  in  the  re- 
cesses of  his  own  breast. 

On  the  contrary,  in  the  new  theory,  every  principle  promul- 
gated, every  precaution  taken,  every  suspicion  awakened  is  aimed 
at  the  gendarme.  In  the  name  of  the  sovereignty  of  the  people 
all  authority  is  withdrawn  from  the  government,  every  prerog- 
ative, every  initiative,  its  continuance  and  its  force.  The  people 
being  sovereign  the  government  is  simply  its  clerk,  and  less  than 
its  clerk,  merely  its  domestic.  Between  them  "no  contract" 
indefinite  or  at  least  enduring,  "and  which  may  be  cancelled 
only  by  mutual  consent  or  the  unfaithfulness  of  one  of  the  two 
parties."  "It  is  against  the  nature  of  a  political  body  for  the 
sovereign  to  impose  a  law  on  himself  which  he  cannot  set  aside." 
There  is  no  sacred  and  inviolable  charter  "binding  a  people 
to  the  forms  of  an  established  constitution."  "The  right  to 
change  these  is  the  first  guarantee  of  all  rights."  "  There  is  not. 
and  never  can  be,  any  fundamental,  obligatory  law  for  the  entire 
body  of  a  people,  not  even  the  social  contract."  If  is  througn 
usurpation  and  deception  that  a  prince,  an  assembly,  and  a  body 


CHAP.  iv.          THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  DOCTRINE.  243 

of  magistrates  declare  themselves  representatives  of  the  people. 
"  Sovereignty  is  not  to  be  represented  for  the  same  reason  that  it 
is  not  to  be  alienated.  .  .  .  The  moment  a  people  gives  itself 
representatives  it  is  no  longer  free,  it  exists  no  more.  .  .  .  The 
English  people  think  themselves  free  but  they  deceive  themselves ; 
they  are  free  only  during  an  election  of  members  of  parliament ; 
on  the  election  of  these  they  become  slaves  and  are  null;  .  .  . 
The  deputies  of  the  people  are  not,  nor  can  they  be,  its  rep- 
resentatives ;  they  are  simply  its  commissioners  and  can  establish 
no  final  compact.  Every  law  not  ratified  by  the  people  them- 
selves is  null  and  is  no  law."  "A  body  of  laws  sanctioned  by 
an  assembly  of  the  people  through  a  fixed  constitution  of  the 
State,  does  not  suffice ;  other  fixed  and  periodical  assemblies  are 
necessary  which  cannot  be  abolished  or  prorogued,  so  arranged 
that  on  a  given  day  the  people  may  be  legitimately  convoked  by 
the  law,  no  other  formal  convocation  being  requisite.  .  .  .  The 
moment  the  people  are  thus  assembled  the  jurisdiction  of  the 
government  is  to  cease  and  the  executive  power  is  to  be  sus- 
pended," society  commencing  anew,  while  citizens,  restored  to 
then*  primitive  independence,  may  reconstitute  at  will,  for  any 
period  they  determine,  the  provisional  contract  to  which  they 
have  assented  only  for  a  determined  time.  "The  opening  of 
these  assemblies,  whose  sole  object  is  to  maintain  the  social 
compact,  should  always  take  place  with  two  propositions,  never 
suppressed  and  which  are  to  be  passed  on  separately;  the  first 
one,  whether  the  sovereign  is  willing  to  maintain  the  actual  form 
of  the  government ;  and  the  second,  whether  the  people  are  will- 
ing to  leave  its  administration  in  the  hands  of  those  actually  per- 
forming its  duties"  Thus,  "the  act  by  which  a  people  is  subject 
to  its  chiefs  is  absolutely  only  a  commission,  a  service  in  which, 
as  simple  officers  of  their  sovereign,  they  exercise  in  his  name 
the  power  of  which  he  has  made  them  depositaries  and  which  he 
may  modify,  limit  and  resume  at  pleasure." *  Not  only  does  it 
always  reserve  to  itself  "the  legislative  power  which  belongs 
to  it  and  which  can  belong  only  to  it,"  but  again,  it  delegates 
and  withdraws  the  executive  power  according  to  its  fancy. 
Those  who  exercise  it  are  its  employe's.  "  It  may  establish  and 
depose  them  when  it  pleases."  In  relation  to  it  they  have  no 

1  Rousseau,  "Contrat  social, '  I,  ch.  7;  '.II.  ch.  13,  14,  15,  18;  IV.  ch.  i,  18;  IV.  3.     Cf 

Condorcet,  ninth  epoch. 


244  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  UL 

rights.  "It  is  not  a  matter  of  contract  with  them  but  one  of 
obedience;"  they  have  "no  conditions"  to  prescribe;  they  can 
not  demand  of  it  the  fulfilment  of  any  engagement.  It  is  use- 
less to  raise  the  objection  that,  according  to  this,  every  man 
of  spirit  or  of  culture  will  decline  our  offices  and  that  our  chiefs 
will  bear  the  character  of  lackeys.  We  will  not  leave  them  the 
freedom  of  accepting  or  declining  office ;  we  impose  it  on  them 
authoritatively.  "In  every  true  democracy  the  magistrature  is 
not  an  advantage  but  an  onerous  burden,  not  to  be  assigned 
to  one  more  than  to  another."  We  can  lay  hands  on  our  magis- 
trates, take  them  by  the  collar  and  seat  them  on  their  benches  in 
their  own  despite.  By  fair  means  or  foul  they  are  the  working 
subjects  (corutabks)  of  the  State,  in  a  lower  condition  than  a 
valet  or  a  mechanic,  since  the  mechanic  does  his  work  according 
to  acceptable  conditions  and  the  discharged  valet  can  claim  his 
eight  days'  notice  to  quit.  When  government  throws  off  this 
humble  attitude  it  usurps,  while  constitutions  are  to  proclaim 
that,  in  such  an  event,  insurrection  is  not  only  the  most  sacred 
right  but  the  most  imperative  duty. 

Practice,  accordingly,  accompanies  the  theory,  and  the  dogma 
of  the  sovereignty  of  the  people,  interpreted  by  the  mass,  is  to 
produce  a  perfect  anarchy,  up  to  the  moment  when,  interpreted 
by  its  chiefs,  it  produces  a  perfect  despotism. 

IV. 

For  there  are  two  sides  to  this  theory;  whilst  one  side 
leads  to  the  perpetual  demolition  of  government,  the  other 
terminates  in  the  illimitable  dictation  of  the  State.  The  new 
contract  is  not  a  historic  fact  like  the  English  Declaration  of 
Rights  in  1688  or  the  Dutch  federation  in  1579,  entered  into  by 
actual  and  living  individuals,  admitting  acquired  situations, 
groups  already  formed,  established  positions,  and  drawn  up  to  rec- 
ognize, define,  guarantee  and  complete  an  anterior  right.  An- 
tecedent to  the  social  contract  no  veritable  right  exists;  for 
veritable  rights  are  born  solely  out  of  the  social  contract,  the 
only  valid  one,  since  it  is  the  only  one  agreed  upon  between  be- 
ings perfectly  equal  and  perfectly  free,  so  many  abstract  creat 
ures,  so  many  species  of  mathematical  units,  all  of  the  same 
value,  all  playing  the  same  part  and  whose  inequality  or  con- 
straint never  disturbs  the  common  understanding.  Hence,  at  the 


CHAP.  iv.  THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  DOCTRINE.  245 

moment  of  its  completion,  all  other  pacts  are  nullified.  Property, 
family,  church,  no  ancient  institution  may  invoke  any  light  against 
the  new  State.  The  area  on  which  it  is  built  up  must  be  consid- 
ered vacant;  if  old  structures  are  partly  allowed  to  remain 
it  is  only  in  its  name  and  for  its  benefit,  to  be  enclosed  within  its 
barriers  and  appropriated  to  its  use ;  the  entire  soil  of  humanity 
is  its  property.  On  the  other  hand  it  is  not,  according  to  the 
American  doctrine,  an  association  for  mutual  protection,  a  society 
like  other  societies,  circumscribed  in  its  purpose,  restricted  to  its 
office,  limited  in  its  powers,  and  by  which  individuals  reserving 
to  themselves  the  better  portion  of  their  property  and  persons, 
assess  each  other  for  the  maintenance  of  an  army,  a  police,  tri- 
bunals, highways,  schools,  in  short,  the  major  instrumentalities  of 
public  safety  and  utility,  at  the  same  time  withholding  the  re- 
mainder of  local,  general,  spiritual  and  material  services  in  favor 
of  private  initiative  and  of  spontaneous  associations  that  may 
arise  as  occasion  or  necessity  calls  for  them.  Our  State  is  not  to 
be  a  simple  utilitarian  machine,  a  convenient,  handy  implement, 
of  which  the  workman  avails  himself  without  abandoning  the 
free  use  of  his  hand,  or  the  simultaneous  use  of  other  implements. 
Being  elder  born,  the  only  son  and  sole  representative  of  reason, 
it  must,  to  ensure  its  sway,  leave  nothing  beyond  its  grasp.  In 
this  respect  the  old  regime  paves  the  way  for  the  new  one,  while 
the  established  system  inclines  minds  beforehand  to  the  budding 
theory.  Through  administrative  centralization  the  State  already, 
for  a  long  time,  has  its  hands  everywhere.1  "  You  must  know," 
says  Law  to  the  Marquis  d'Argenson,  "  that  the  kingdom  of 
France  is  governed  by  thirty  intendants.  You  have  neither  par- 
liaments, assemblies  or  governors,  simply  thirty  masters  of  re- 
quests, provincial  clerks,  on  whom  depends  the  happiness  or  mis- 
ery, the  ftuitfulness  or  sterility  of  these  provinces."  The  king,  in 
fact,  sovereign,  father,  and  universal  guardian,  manages  local  af- 
fairs through  his  delegates  and  intervenes  is  private  affairs 
through  his  pardons  or  lettres-de-cachet.  Such  an  example  and 
such  a  course  followed  for  fifty  years  excites  the  imagination. 
No  other  instrumentality  is  better  calculated  to  effect  reforms  on 
a  large  scale  and  at  one  stroke.  Hence,  far  from  restricting  the 
central  power  the  economists  are  desirous  of  extending  its  action. 

1  De  Tocqueville,  "L'Ancien  regime,"  book  II.  entire,  and  book  III.  eh.  3. 


246  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  in 

Instead  of  setting  up  new  dykes  against  it  they  interest  them 
selves  only  in  destroying  what  is  left  of  the  old  dykes  still  in- 
terfering with  it.  "  The  system  of  counter-forces  in  a  govern- 
ment," say  Quesnay  and  his  disciples,  "  is  a  fatal  idea.  .  .  .  The 
speculations  on  which  the  system  of  counter-balance  is  founded 
are  chimerical.  .  .  .  Let  the  government  have  a  full  comprehen- 
sion of  its  duties  and  be  left  free.  .  .  .  The  State  must  govern 
according  to  the  essential  laws  of  order  and  in  this  case  unlimited 
power  is  requisite."  On  the  approach  of  the  Revolution  the 
same  doctrine  reappears  except  in  the  substitution  of  one  term 
for  another  term.  In  the  place  of  the  sovereignty  of  the  king 
the  "  Contrat  social"  substitutes  the  sovereignty  of  the  people. 
The  latter,  however,  is  much  more  absolute  than  the  former,  and, 
in  the  democratic  convent  which  Rousseau  constructs,  on  the 
Spartan  and  Roman  model,  the  individual  is  nothing  and  the 
State  everything. 

In  effect,  "  the  clauses  of  the  social  contract  reduce  themselves 
to  one,  namely,  the  total  transfer  of  each  associate  with  all  his 
rights  to  the  community."1  Every  one  surrenders  himself  en- 
tirely, "just  as  he  stands,  he  and  all  his  forces  and  of  which  his 
property  forms  a  portion."  There  is  no  exception  nor  reserva- 
tion ;  whatever  he  may  have  been  previously  and  whatever  may 
•lave  belonged  to  him  is  no  longer  his  own.  Henceforth  what- 
ever he  becomes  or  whatever  he  may  possess  devolves  on  him 
jnly  through  the  delegation  of  the  social  body,  the  universal 
proprietor  and  absolute  master.  All  rights  must  be  vested  in  the 
State  and  none  in  the  individual;  otherwise  there  would  be  liti- 
gation between  them,  and,  "  as  there  is  no  common  superior  to 
iecide  between  them  "  their  litigation  would  never  end.  On  the 
xmtrary,  through  the  complete  donation  which  each  one  makes 
.rf  himself,  "  the  unity  is  as  perfect  as  possible ; "  having  re- 
aounced  all  and  renounced  himself  "  he  has  no  further  claim  to 
make." 

This  being  admitted,  let  us  trace  the  consequences.  In  the 
licst  place,  I  enjoy  my  property  only  through  tolerance  and  at 
second-hand ;  for,  according  to  the  social  c:  ntract,  I  have  surren- 
dered it;2  " it  now  forms  a  portion  of  the  national  estate;"  if  I 

1  Rousseau,  "Contrat  social"  I.  6. 

*  Ibid.  I.  9.     "  The  State,  in  relation  to  its  members  is  master  of  all  their  possessions  ac- 
cording to  the  social  compact ;  possessors  are  considered  as  depositaries  of  the  public  wealth.* 


21 


* 


CHAP.  iv.          THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  DOCTRINE.  24? 

retain  the  use  of  it  for  the  time  being  it  is  through  a  concession 
of  the  State  which  makes  me  a  "  depositary  "  of  it.  And  this 
favor  must  not  be  considered  as  a  restitution.  "  Far  from  accept- 
ing the  property  of  individuals,  society  despoils  them  of  it,  simply 
converting  the  usurpation  into  a  veritable  right,  the  enjoyment  of 
it  into  proprietorship."  Previous  to  the  social  contract  I  was 
possessor  not  by  right  but  in  fact,  and  even  unjustly  if  I  had 
large  possessions ;  for,  "  every  man  has  naturally  a  right  to  what- 
ever he  needs,"  and  I  was  robbing  other  men  of  all  that  I 
possessed  beyond  my  subsistence.  Hence,  so  far  from  the  State 
being  under  obligation  to  me,  I  am  under  obligation  to  it, 
the  property  which  it  returns  to  me  not  being  mine  but  that 
with  which  the  State  favors  me.  It  follows,  accordingly,  that  the 
State  may  impose  conditions  on  its  gift,  limit  the  use  I  may  make 
of  it  according  to  its  fancy,  restrict  and  regulate  my  disposition 
of  it,  my  right  to  bequeath  it.  "  According  to  nature,1  the  right 
of  property  does  not  extend  beyond  the  life  of  its  owner; 
the  moment  he  dies  his  possessions  are  no  longer  his  own. 
Thus,  to  prescribe  the  conditions  on  which  he  may  dispose  of  it 
is  really  less  to  change  his  right  in  appearance  than  to  extend  it 
in  effect."  In  any  event  as  my  title  is  an  effect  of  the  social 
contract  it  is  precarious  like  the  contract  itself;  a  new  stipulation 
suffices  to  limit  it  or  to  destroy  it.  "  The  sovereign2  may  legiti- 
mately appropriate  to  himself  all  property  as  was  done  in  Sparta  in 
the  time  of  Lycurgus."  In  our  laical  convent  whatever  each 
monk  possesses  is  only  a  revocable  gift  by  the  convent. 

In  the  second  place,  this  convent  is  a  seminary.  I  have  no 
right  to  bring  up  my  children  in  my  own  house  and  in  my  own 
way.  "  As  the  reason  of  each  man3  must  not  be  the  sole  arbiter 
of  his  rights  so  much  less  should  the  education  of  children,  which 
is  of  more  consequence  to  the  State  than  to  fathers,  be  left  to  the 
intelligence  and  prejudices  of  their  fathers."  "  If  public  author- 
ity, taking  the  place  of  fathers  in  assuming  this  important  func- 
tion, acquires  their  rights  in  fulfilling  their  duties,  they  have  so 
much  the  less  reason  to  complain  inasmuch  as  they  merely  uu 
dergo  a  change  of  name,  and,  under  the  title  of  citizens,  exercise 
in  common  the  same  authority  over  their  children  that  they  have 

1  Rousseau,  "Discours  sur  1'Economie  polidque,"  308. 

*  Ibid.  "Emile,"  book  V.  173. 
1  Itid.  "Discours  sur  1' Economic  politique,"  303. 


248  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  m, 

separately  exercised  under  the  title  of  fathers."  In  other  words 
you  cease  to  be  a  father,  but,  in  exchange,  become  a  school  in- 
spector; one  is  as  good  as  the  other  and  what  complaint  have  you 
to  make  ?  Such  was  the  case  in  that  perpetual  army  called  Sparta; 
there,  the  children,  genuine  regimental  children,  equally  obeyed 
all  properly-formed  men.  Thus,  "  public  education,  within  laws 
prescribed  by  the  government  and  under  magistrates  appointed 
by  sovereign  will,  is  one  of  the  fundamental  maxims  of  popular 
or  legitimate  government."  Through  this  the  citizen  is  formed 
in  advance.  "  It  gives  the  national  form  to  souls.1  Nations,  in 
the  long  run,  are  what  the  government  makes  them — soldiers, 
citizens,  men  when  so  disposed,  a  populace,  canaille  if  it  pleases," 
being  fashioned  by  their  education.  "  Would  you  obtain  an  idea 
of  public  education  ?  Read  Plato's  '  Republic.' 2  .  .  .  The  best 
social  institutions  are  those  the  best  qualified  to  change  man's 
nature,  to  destroy  his  absolute  being,  to  give  him  a  relative  being, 
and  to  convert  self  into  the  common  unity,  so  that  each  individ- 
ual may  not  regard  himself  as  one  by  himself,  but  a  part  of  the 
unity  and  no  longer  sensitive  but  through  the  whole.  An  infant, 
on  opening  its  eyes,  must  behold  the  common  patrimony  and,  to 
the  day  of  its  death,  behold  that  only.  .  .  .  He  should  be  dis- 
ciplined so  as  never  to  contemplate  the  individual  except  in  his 
relations  with  the  body  of  the  State."  Such  was  the  practice  of 
Sparta,  and  the  sole  aim  of  the  "great  Lycurgus."  "All  being 
equal  through  the  law,  they  must  be  brought  up  together  and  in 
the  same  manner."  "  The  law  must  regulate  the  subjects,  the 
order  and  the  form  of  their  studies."  They  must,  at  the  very 
least,  take  part  in  public  exercises,  in  horse-races,  in  the  games 
of  strength  and  of  agility  instituted  "  to  accustom  them  to  law, 
equality,  fraternity,  and  competition;"  to  teach  them  how  "t<r 
live  under  the  eyes  of  their  fellow-citizens  and  to  crave  public 
applause."  Through  these  games  they  become  democrats  from 
their  early  youth,  since,  the  prizes  being  awarded,  not  through 
the  arbitrament  of  masters,  but  through  the  cheers  of  spectators, 
they  accustom  themselves  to  recognizing  as  sovereign  the  legiti- 
mate sovereignty,  consisting  of  the  verdict  of  the  assembled 
people.  The  important  interest  of  the  State  is,  always,  to  form 
the  wills  of  those  by  which  it  lasts,  to  prepare  the  votes  that  are 

1  Rousseau,  on  the  "  Gouvernement  de  Pologne,"  277,  383,  287. 
*Ibid.  "Emile,"bookl. 


CHAP.  iv.          THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  DOCTRINE.  249 

to  maintain  it,  to  uproot  passions  in  the  soul  that  might  be  op- 
posed to  it,  to  implant  passions  that  will  prove  favorable  to  it,  to 
fix  firmly  within  the  breasts  of  its  future  citizens  the  sentiments 
and  prejudices  it  will  at  some  time  need.1  If  it  does  not  secure 
the  children  it  will  not  possess  the  adults.  Novices  in  a  convent 
must  be  educated  as  monks,  otherwise,  when  they  grow  up,  the 
convent  will  no  longer  exist. 

Finally,  our  lay  convent  has  its  own  religion,  a  lay  religion. 
If  I  possess  any  other  it  is  through  its  condescension  and  under 
restrictions.  It  is,  by  nature,  hostile  to  other  associations  than 
its  own ;  they  are  rivals,  they  annoy  it,  they  absorb  the  will  and 
pervert  the  votes  of  its  members.  "To  ensure  a  full  declaration 
of  the  general  will  it  is  an  important  matter  not  to  allow  any 
special  society  in  the  State,  and  that  each  citizen  should  de- 
termine for  himself  alone."  a  "  Whatever  breaks  up  social 
unity  is  worthless,"  and  it  would  be  better  for  the  State  if  there 
were  no  Church.  Not  only  is  every  church  suspicious,  but,  if  I 
am  a  Christian,  my  belief  is  regarded  unfavorably.  According  to 
this  new  legislator,  "  nothing  is  more  opposed  to  the  social  spirit 
than  Christianity.  ...  A  society  of  true  Christians  would  no  long- 
er form  a  society  of  men."  For,  "  the  Christian  patrimony  is 
not  of  this  world."  It  cannot  zealously  serve  the  State,  being 
bound  by  its  conscience  to  support  tyrants.  Its  law  "  preaches 
only  servitude  and  dependence  ...  it  is  made  for  a  slave,"  and 
never  will  a  citizen  be  made  out  of  a  slave.  "  Christian  Republic, 
each  of  these  two  words  excludes  the  other."  Therefore,  if  the 
future  Republic  allows  me  to  remain  a  Christian,  it  must  be  on 
the  understood  condition  that  my  doctrine  shall  be  shut  up  in 
my  mind,  without  even  affecting  my  heart.  If  I  am  a  Catholic, 
(and  twenty-five  out  of  twenty-six  millions  Frenchmen  are  like 
me),  my  condition  is  worse.  For  the  social  pact  does  not  tolerate 
an  intolerant  religion;  any  sect  that  condemns  other  sects  is  a 
public  enemy ;  "  whoever  presumes  to  say  that  there  is  no  salva- 
tion out  of  the  church,  must  be  driven  out  of  the  State."  Should  I 
be,  finally,  a  free-thinker,  a  positivist  or  scef  tic,  my  situatron  is 
little  better.  "  There  is  a  civil  religion,"  a  catechism,  "  a  profes- 
sion of  faith,  of  which  the  sovereign  has  the  right  to  dictate  the 

1  Morelly,  "Code  de  la  nature."  "At  the  age  of  five  all  children  should  be  removed  from 
their  families  and  brought  up  in  common,  at  the  charge  of  the  State,  in  a  uniform  manner." 
A  similar  project,  perfectly  Spartan,  was  found  among  the  papers  of  St.  Just 

»  Rousseau,  "Contrat  social,"  II.  3;  IV.  8. 


250  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  in 

articles,  not  exactly  as  religious  dogmas  but  as  sentiments  of  so- 
cial import  without  which  we  cannot  be  a  good  citizen  or  a  loya] 
subject."  These  articles  embrace  "the  existence  of  a  powerful, 
intelligent,  beneficent,  foreseeing  and  provident  divinity,  the  fu- 
ture life,  the  happiness  of  the  good,  the  punishment  of  the 
wicked,  the  sacredness  of  the  social  contract  and  of  the  laws.1 
Without  forcing  any  one  to  believe  in  this  creed,  whoever  does 
not  believe  in  it  must  be  expelled  from  the  State ;  it  is  necessary 
to  banish  such  persons  not  on  account  of  impiety,  but  as  un- 
sociable beings,  incapable  of  sincerely  loving  law  and  justice  and, 
if  need  be,  of  giving  up  life  for  duty."  Take  heed  that  this  pro- 
fession of  faith  be  not  a  vain  one,  for  a  new  inquisition  is  to  test 
its  sincerity.  "  Should  any  person,  after  having  publicly  assented 
to  these  dogmas,  act  as  an  unbeliever  let  him  be  punished  with 
death.  He  has  committed  the  greatest  of  crimes  :  he  has  lied  be- 
fore the  law."  Truly,  as  I  said  above,  we  belong  to  a  convent. 

V. 

These  articles  are  all  necessary  sequels  of  the  social  contract. 
The  moment  I  enter  the  corporation  I  abandon  my  own  personal- 
ity; I  abandon,  by  this  step,  my  possessions,  my  children,  my 
church,  and  my  opinions.  I  cease  to  be  proprietor,  father,  Chris- 
tian and  philosopher.  The  State  is  my  substitute  in  all  these 
functions.  In  place  of  my  will,  there  is  henceforth  the  public 
will,  that  is  to  say,  in  theory,  the  mutable  absolutism  of  a  majority 
counted  by  heads,  while  in  fact,  it  is  the  rigid  absolutism  of 
the  assembly,  the  faction,  the  individual  who  is  custodian  of 
the  public  authority.  On  this  principle  an  outburst  of  boundless 
infatuation  takes  place.  The  very  first  year  Gre"goire  states  in  the 
tribune  of  the  Constituent  Assembly  "  we  might  change  religion  if 
we  pleased,  but  we  have  no  such  desire."  A  little  later  the  desire 
comes,  and  it  is  to  be  carried  out;  that  of  Holbach  is  proposed,  then 
that  of  Rousseau,  and  they  dare  go  much  farther.  In  the  name 
of  Reason,  of  which  the  State  alone  is  the  representative  and  in- 
terpreter, they  undertake  to  unmake  and  make  over,  conformably  to 
reason  and  to  reason  alone,  all  customs,  festivals,  ceremonies,  and 
costumes,  the  era,  the  calendar,  weights  and  measures,  the  names 

1  C£  Mercier,  "L'an  2240,"  I.  ch.  17  and  18.  From  1770  on,  he  traces  the  programme  of 
a  system  of  worship  similar  to  tha;  of  the  Theo-philanthropists,  the  chapter  being  entitled 
"Pas  si  £loign£  qu'on  le  pense." 


CHAP.  iv.          THE  SPIRIT  AND  THE  DOCTRINE.  251 

of  the  seasons,  months,  weeks  and  days,  of  places  and  monu- 
ments, family  and  baptismal  names,  complimentary  titles,  the 
tone  of  discourse,  the  mode  of  salutation,  of  greeting,  of  speaking 
and  of  writing,  in  such  a  fashion,  that  the  Frenchman,  as  formerly 
with  the  puritan  or  the  quaker,  remodelled  even  in  his  inward 
substance,  exposes,  through  the  minutest  details  of  his  conduct 
and  exterior,  the  dominance  of  the  all-powerful  principle  which 
refashions  his  being  and  the  inflexible  logic  which  controls 
his  thoughts.  This  constitutes  the  final  result  and  complete  tri- 
umph of  the  classic  spirit.  Installed  in  narrow  brains,  incapable 
of  harboring  more  than  one  idea,  it  is  to  become  a  cold  or  furious 
monomania,  maddened  in  the  destruction  of  a  past  it  curses,  and 
in  the  establishment  of  the  millenium  it  pursues,  and  all  in 
the  name  of  an  imaginary  contract,  at  once  anarchical  and  des- 
potic, which  unfetters  insurrection  and  justifies  dictation;  all 
to  end  in  a  social  antagonism,  resembling  now  a  bacchanalian 
orgy  of  madmen,  and  now  a  Spartan  conventual  group;  all  with 
a  view  to  substitute  for  the  existing  man,  enduring  and  slowly 
formed  by  history,  an  improvised  automaton  that  is  to  fall  away 
through  its  own  debility  when  the  external  and  mechanical  force 
that  keeps  it  up  will  no  longer  sustain  it. 


BOOK  FOURTH. 
E$*  $ropagat(on  of  tfjc  Bocttfne, 

CHAPTER  I. 

SUCCESS  OF  THIS  PHILOSOPHY  IN  FRANCE. — Failure  of  the  same  philoso 
phy  in  England. — I.  Causes  of  this  difference. — The  art  of  writing  in 
France. — Its  superiority  at  this  epoch. — It  serves  as  the  vehicle  of  new 
ideas. — Books  are  written  for  people  of  the  world. — The  philosophers  are 
people  of  the  world  and  consequently  writers. — This  accounts  for  philosophy 
descending  to  the  drawing-room. — II.  Owing  to  this  method  it  becomes 
popular. — III.  Owing  to  style  it  becomes  pleasing. — Two  stimulants  peculiar 
to  the  l8th  century,  coarse  humor  and  irony. — IV.  The  art  and  processes 
of  the  masters. — Montesquieu. — Voltaire. — Diderot. — Rousseau. — "  The 
Marriage  of  Figaro." 

ANALOGOUS  theories  have  many  times  traversed  the  imagina- 
tions of  men  and  analogous  theories  will  yet  traverse  them  more 
than  once  again.  In  all  ages  and  in  all  countries,  any  con- 
siderable change  effected  in  the  conception  of  human  nature 
suffices  to  disclose,  by  way  of  counterstroke,  Utopias  and  dis- 
coveries springing  up  on  the  territories  of  politics  and  religion. 
But  this  does  not  suffice  for  the  propagation  of  the  new  doctrine 
nor,  above  all,  for  speculation  to  become  application.  Although 
born  in  England  the  philosophy  of  the  eighteenth  century  could 
not  develop  itself  in  England;  the  fever  for  demolition  and 
reconstruction  remained  superficial  there  and  momentary.  De- 
ism, atheism,  materialism,  scepticism,  ideology,  the  theory  of  the 
return  to  nature,  the  proclamation  of  the  rights  of  man,  all  the 
temerities  of  Bolingbroke,  Collins,  Toland,  Tindal  and  Mande- 
ville,  the  bold  ideas  of  Hume,  Hartley,  James  Mill  and  Bentham, 
all  the  revolutionary  doctrines,  were  so  many  conservatory  plants 


CHAP.  I.       THE  PROPAGATION  OF  THE  DOCTRINE.  253 

produced,  here  and  there,  in  the  isolated  studies  of  a  few  thinkers : 
in  the  open  air  they  proved  abortive,  after  blooming  for  a  little 
time  under  the  too  vigorous  competition  with  the  old  vegetation 
to  which  the  soil  belonged.1  On  the  contrary,  in  France,  the 
seed  imported  from  England  takes  root  and  spreads  with  extra- 
ordinary vigor.  After  the  Regency  it  is  in  full  bloom.2  Like  any 
species  favored  by  soil  and  climate,  it  invades  all  soils,  appro- 
priating light  and  atmosphere  to  itself,  scarcely  allowing  in  its 
shadow  a  few  abortions  of  an  inimical  species,  the  survival 
of  an  antique  flora  like  Rollin,  or  a  specimen  of  an  eccentric 
flora  like  Saint-Martin.  Large  trees  and  dense  thickets,  masses 
of  brushwood  and  low  plants, — Voltaire,  Montesquieu,  Rousseau, 
Diderot,  d'Alembert  and  Buffon, — Duclos,  Mably,  Condillac,  Tur- 
got,  Beaumarchais,  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre,  Barthe"lemy  and 
Thomas,  the  crowd  of  journalists,  compilers  and  conversation- 
ists, the  elite  of  the  philosophical,  scientific  and  literary  mul-  \ 
titude, — absorb  the  Academy,  the  stage,  the  drawing-room  and 
conversation.  Every  tall  form  of  the  century  is  one  of  its  off 
shoots,  and  among  these  are  some  of  the  loftiest  produced  by  the 
human  species.  This  is  owing  to  the  seed  having  fallen  on  suit- 
able ground,  that  is  to  say,  on  the  patrimony  of  the  classic  spirit. 
In  this  land  of  the  raison  raisonnante  it  no  longer  encounters  the 
rivals  that  impeded  its  growth  on  the  other  side  of  the  Channel 
and  it  not  only  immediately  acquires  vigor  of  sap  but,  again,  the 
propagating  organ  which  it  required. 

I. 

This  organ  is  the  "art  of  expression,  eloquence  applied  to  the 
gravest  subjects,  the  talent  for  making  things  clear."  3  '<  The  great 
writers  of  this  nation,"  says  their  great  adversary,  "  express  them- 
selves better  than  those  of  any  other  nation.  Their  books  give 
but  little  information  to  true  savants,"  but  "through  the  art  of  ex- 
pression they  influence  men"  and  "the  mass  of  men,  constantly 
repelled  from  the  sanctuary  of  the  sciences  by  the  dry  style  and 

i  "Who,  bom  within  the  last  forty  years,  ever  reads  a  word  of  Collins,  and  Toland,  and 
Tindal,  or  of  that  whole  race  who  called  themselves  freethinkers  ?"  (Burke,  "Reflexions  on 
the  French  Revolution,"  1790). 

*  The  "GEdipe,"  by  Voltaire,  belongs  to  the  y-ar  1718,  ao  1  his  "Lettres  sur  les  Anglais,"  . 
to  the  year  1728.     The  "Lettres  Persaiies,"  by  Montesquieu,  published  in  1721,  contain  the   , 
germs  of  all  the  leading  ideas  of  the  century. 

*  Joseph  de  Maistre,  "CEuvres  in£dites,"  pp.  8,  ix. 

22 


254  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  iv. 

Dad  taste  of  (other)  scientific  writers,  cannot  resist  the  seductions 
of  the  French  style  and  method."  Thus  the  classic  spirit  that 
furnishes  the  ideas  likewise  furnishes  the  means  of  conveying 
them,  the  theories  of  the  eighteenth  century  being  like  those 
seeds  provided  with  wings  which  float  and  distribute  themselves 
on  all  soils.  There  is  no  book  of  that  day  not  written  for  peo- 
ple of  the  world,  and  even  for  women  of  the  world.  In  Fonte- 
nelle's  dialogues  on  the  Plurality  of  Worlds  the  principal  person- 
age is  a  marchioness.  Voltaire  composes  his  "Me"taphysique" 
and  his  "Essai  sur  les  Mceurs"  for  Madame  du  Chatelet,  and 
Rousseau  his  "Emile"  for  Madame  d'Epinay.  Condillac  wrote 
the  "Traite"  des  Sensations"  from  suggestions  of  Mademoiselle 
Ferrand,  and  he  sets  forth  instructions  to  young  ladies  how  to 
read  his  "  Logique."  Baudeau  dedicates  and  explains  to  a  lady 
his  "Tableau  Economique."  Diderot's  most  profound  work  is  a 
conversation  between  Mademoiselle  de  1'Espinasse  and  d'Alem- 
bert  and  Bordeu.1  Montesquieu  had  placed  an  invocation  to  the 
muses  in  the  middle  of  the  "  Esprit  des  Lois."  Almost  every 
work  is  a  product  of  the  drawing-room,  and  of  one  obtaining  the 
first  fruits  of  the  work  before  being  presented  to  the  public.  In 
this  respect  the  habit  is  so  strong  as  to  last  up  to  the  end  of 
1789 ;  the  harangues  about  to  be  made  in  the  National  Assembly 
are  passages  of  bravura  previously  rehearsed  before  ladies  at  an 
evening  entertainment.  The  American  Ambassador,  a  practical 
man,  explains  to  Washington  with  sober  irony  the  fine  academic 
and  literary  parade  preceding  the  political  tournament  in  public.8 
"The  speeches  are  made  beforehand  in  a  small  society  of  young 
men  and  women,  and  generally  the  fair  friend  of  the  speaker 
is  one,  or  else  the  fair  whom  he  means  to  make  his  friend,  and 
the  society  very  politely  give  their  approbation,  unless  the  lady 
who  gives  the  tone  to  that  circle  chances  to  reprehend  something 
which  is  of  course  altered  if  not  amended."  It  is  not  surprising, 
with  customs  of  this  kind,  that  professional  philosophers  should 
become  men  of  society.  At  no  time  nor  in  any  place  have  they 
been  so  to  the  same  extent,  nor  so  habitually.  The  great  delight 
of  a  man  of  genius  or  of  learning  here,  says  an  English  traveller, 
is  to  reign  over  a  brilliant  assembly  of  people  of  fashion.3 

1  His  letters  on  the  Blind  and  on  the  Deaf  and  Dumb  are  addressed  in  whole  or  in  part  to 
women. 

*  Works  of  Gouverneur  Morris,  II.  89.  (Letter  of  January  24,  1790). 

1  John  And/ews  in  "A  comparative  view,"  etc.  (1785).  Arthur  Young,  I.  123.  "I  should 
pity  the  ncan  who  expected,  without  other  advantage!  of  a  very  different  nature,  to  be  wtB 


CHAP.  i.       THE  PROPAGATION  OF  THE  DOCTRINE.  255 

Whilst  in  England  they  bury  themselves  morosely  in  their  books, 
living  amongst  themselves  and  appearing  in  society  only  on  con 
dition  of  "  doing  some  political  drudgery,"  that  of  journalist  01 
pamphleteer  in  the  service  of  a  party,  in  France  they  dine  out 
every  evening  and  constitute  the  ornaments  and  amusement  of 
the  drawing-rooms  to  which  they  resort  to  converse.1  There  is 
not  a  house  in  which  dinners  are  given  that  has  not  its  titular 
philosopher,  and,  later  on,  its  economist  and  man  of  science. 
In  the  various  memoirs,  and  in  the  collections  of  correspondence, 
we  track  them  from  one  drawing-room  to  another,  from  one 
chateau  to  another,  Voltaire  to  Cirey  at  Madame  du  Chatelet's, 
and  then  home,  at  Ferney  where  he  has  a  theatre  and  entertains 
all  Europe;  Rousseau  to  Madame  d'Epinay's,  and  M.  de  Lux- 
embourg's ;  the  Abbe"  Barthelemy  to  the  Duchesse  de  Choiseul's ; 
Thomas,  Marmontel  and  Gibbon  to  Madame  Necker's;  the 
encyclopedists  to  d'Holbach's  ample  dinners,  to  the  plain  and 
discreet  table  of  Madame  Geoffrin,  and  to  the  little  drawing- 
room  of  Mademoiselle  de  L'Espinasse,  all  belonging  to  the  great 
central  state  drawing-room,  that  is  to  say,  to  the  French  Acad- 
emy, where  each  newly-elected  member  appears  to  parade  his 
style  and  obtain  from  a  polished  body  his  commission  of  master 
in  the  art  of  discourse.  Such  a  public  imposes  on  an  author  the 
obligation  of  being  more  a  writer  than  a  philosopher.  The 
thinker  is  expected  to  concern  himself  with  his  sentences  as 
much  as  with  his  ideas.  He  is  not  allowed  to  be  a  mere  scholar 
in  his  closet,  a  simple  erudite,  diving  into  folios  in  German 
fashion,  a  metaphysician  absorbed  with  his  own  meditations, 
having  an  audience  of  pupils  who  take  notes,  and,  as  readers, 
men  devoted  to  study  and  willing  to  give  themselves  trouble, 
a  Kant,  who  forms  for  himself  a  special  language,  who  waits  for 
a  public  to  comprehend  him  and  who  leaves  the  room  in  which 
he  labors  only  for  the  lecture-room  in  which  he  delivers  his 
lectures.  Here,  on  the  contrary,  in  the  matter  of  expresron,  all 

received  in  a  brilliant  circle  in  London,  because  he  was  a  fellow  of  the  Royal  Society.  But 
this  would  not  be  the  case  with  a  member  of  the  Academy  of  Sciences  at  Paris,  lie  Is  sure  of 
a  good  reception  everywhere." 

1  "  I  met  in  Paris  the  d'Alemberts,  the  Marmontels,  the  Baillys  at  the  houses  of  duchesses, 
which  was  an  immense  advantage  to  all  concerned.  .  .  .  When  a  man  with  us  devotes  himself 
to  writing  books  he  is  considered  as  renouncing  the  society  equally  of  those  who  govern  as  of 
those  who  laugh.  .  .  .  Taking  literary  vanity  into  account  the  lives  of  your  d'Alemberts  and 
Baillys  are  as  pleasant  as  those  of  your  seigniors."  (Stendhal,  "Rome,  Naples  et  Florence," 
«77,  in  a  narrative  by  CoL  Forsyth). 


256  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  IV 

are  experts  and  even  professional.  The  mathematician  d'Alem 
bert  publishes  small  treatises  on  elocution ;  Buffon,  the  naturalist, 
pronounces  a  discourse  on  Style;  the  legist  Montesquieu  com- 
poses an  essay  on  Taste;  the  psychologist  Condillac  writes  a 
volume  on  the  art  of  writing.  In  this  consists  their  greatest 
glory;  philosophy  owes  its  entry  into  society  to  them.  They 
withdrew  it  from  the  closet,  the  clique  and  the  school,  to  in- 
troduce it  into  company  and  into  conversation. 

II. 

"  Madame  la  Mare*chale,"  says  one  of  Diderot's  personages,1 
"I  must  consider  things  from  a  somewhat  higher  point  oi 
view." — "As  high  as  you  please  so  long  as  I  understand  you." — 
"If  you  do  not  understand  me  it  will  be  my  fault." — "  You  are 
very  polite,  but  you  must  know  that  I  have  studied  nothing 
but  my  prayer-book."  That  makes  no  difference;  the  pretty 
woman,  ably  led  on,  begins  to  philosophize  without  knowing  it, 
arriving  without  effort  at  the  distinction  between  good  and  evil, 
comprehending  and  deciding  on  the  highest  doctrines  of  mor- 
ality and  religion.  Such  is  the  art  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
and  the  art  of  writing.  People  are  addressed  who  are  perfectly 
familiar  with  life,  but  who  are  commonly  ignorant  of  orthography, 
who  are  curious  in  all  directions,  but  illy  prepared  for  any ;  the 
object  is  to  bring  truth  down  to  their  level.  Scientific  or  too 
abstract  terms  are  inadmissible ;  they  tolerate  only  those  used  in 
ordinary  conversation.  And  this  is  no  obstacle;  it  is  easier  to 
talk  philosophy  in  this  language  than  to  use  it  in  discussing  pre- 
cedences and  mantua-making.  For,  in  every  abstract  question 
there  is  some  leading  and  simple  conception  on  which  the  rest 
depends,  those  of  unity,  proportion,  mass  and  motion  in  mathe- 
matics ;  those  of  organ,  function  and  being  in  physiology,  those 
of  sensation,  pain,  pleasure  and  desire  in  psychology ;  those  ol 
utility,  contract  and  law  in  politics  and  moralky ;  those  of  capital, 
production,  value,  exchange  in  political  economy  and  the  same 
in  the  other  sciences,  all  of  these  being  conceptions  derived  from 
passing  experience,  from  which  it  follows  that,  in  appealing  to 
common  experience  by  means  of  a  few  familiar  circumstances, 
such  as  short  stories,  anecdotes,  agreeable  tales,  and  the  like, 

1  "  Enaction  d'un  philosophe  avec  !a  Marechale ." 


CHAP.  I.       THE  PROPAGATION  OF  THE  DOCTRINE.  257 

these  conceptions  are  fashioned  anew  and  rendered  precise. 
This  being  accomplished,  almost  everything  is  accomplished  •  for 
nothing  then  remains  but  to  lead  the  listener  along  step  by  step, 
flight  by  flight,  to  the  remotest  consequences.  "  Will  Madame 
la  Mar£chale  have  the  kindness  to  recall  my  definition  ?  " — "  I  re- 
member it  well — do  you  call  that  a  definition  ?  " — "Yes." — "  That, 
then,  is  philosophy !  " — "  Admirable ! " — "  And  I  have  been  philo- 
sophical ?  " — "  As  you  read  prose,  without  being  aware  of  it." 
The  rest  is  simply  a  matter  of  reasoning,  that  is  to  say,  of  leading 
on,  of  putting  questions  in  the  right  order,  and  of  analysis. 
With  the  conception  thus  renewed  and  rectified  the  truth  nearest 
at  hand  is  brought  out,  then,  out  of  this,  a  second  truth  related 
to  the  first  one,  and  so  on  to  the  end,  no  other  obligation  being 
involved  in  this  method  but  that  of  carefully  advancing  step  by 
step,  and  of  omitting  no  intermediary  step. 

With  this  method  one  is  able  to  explain  all,  to  make  everything 
understood,  even  by  women,  and  even  by  women  of  society. 
In  the  eighteenth  century  it  forms  the  substance  of  all  talents, 
the  warp  of  all  masterpieces,  the  lucidity,  popularity  and  authority 
of  philosophy.  The  "  Eloges  "  of  Fontenelle,  the  "  Philosophe 
ignorant  et  le  principe  d'action  "  by  Voltaire,  the  "  Lettre  a  M. 
de  Beaumont,"  and  the  "  Vicaire  Savoyard  "  by  Rousseau,  the 
"  Trait6  de  1'homme  "  and  the  "  Epoques  de  la  Nature"  by  Buffon, 
the  "  Dialogues  sur  les  ble"s  "  by  Galiani,  the  "  Considerations  " 
by  d'Alembert,  on  mathematics,  the  "  Langue  des  Calculs  "  and 
the  "  Logique  "  by  Condillac,  and,  a  little  later,  the  "  Exposition 
du  systeme  du  Monde  "  by  Laplace  and  the  "  Discours  ge"ne"raux  " 
by  Bichat  and  Cuvier ;  all  are  based  on  this  method.1  Finally, 
this  is  the  method  which  Condillac  erects  into  a  theory  under  the 
name  of  ideology,  soon  acquiring  the  ascendency  of  a  dogma, 
and  which  then  seems  to  sum  up  all  methods.  At  the  very 
least  it  sums  up  the  process  by  which  the  philosophers  of  the 
century  obtained  their  audience,  propagated  their  doctrine  and 
achieved  their  success. 

III. 

Thanks  to  this  method  one  can  be  understood ;  but,  to  be  read, 
something  more  is  necessary.  I  compare  the  eighteenth  century 

1  The  same  process  is  observable  in  our  day  in  the  "  Sophismes  6conomloues"  of  Bastiat, 
the  "Eloges  historiques"  of  Flourens,  and  in  "Le  Progres,"  by  Edmond  Afrout 


22 


,* 


258  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  IV 

to  a  company  of  people  around  a  table ;  it  is  not  sufficient  that 
the  food  before  them  be  well  prepared,  well  served,  within  reach 
and  easy  to  digest,  but  it  is  important  that  it  should  be  some 
choice  dish  or,  better  still,  some  dainty.  The  intellect  is  epicu- 
rean ;  let  us  supply  it  with  savory,  delicate  viands  adapted  to  its 
taste;  it  will  eat  so  much  the  more  owing  to  its  appetite  being 
sharpened  by  sensuality.  Two  special  condiments  enter  into  the 
cuisine  of  this  century  and,  according  to  the  hand  that  makes 
use  of  them,  they  furnish  all  literary  dishes  with  a  coarse  or 
delicate  seasoning.  In  an  epicurean  society,  to  which  a  return 
to  nature  and  the  rights  of  instinct  are  preached,  voluptuous 
images  and  ideas  present  themselves  involuntarily;  this  is  the 
appetizing,  exciting  spice-box.  Each  guest  at  the  table  uses  or 
abuses  it ;  many  empty  its  entire  contents  on  their  plate.  And  I 
do  not  allude  merely  to  the  literature  read  in  secret,  to  the 
extraordinary  books  Madame  d'Audlan,  governess  to  the  French 
royal  children,  peruses,  and  which  stray  off  into  the  hands  of  the 
daughters  of  Louis  XV.,1  nor  to  other  books,  still  more  extraor- 
dinary,2 in  which  philosophical  arguments  appear  as  an  interlude 
between  filth  and  the  illustrations,  and  which  are  kept  by  the 
ladies  of  the  court  on  their  toilet-tables,  under  the  title  of 
"  Heures  de  Paris."  I  refer  here  to  the  great  men,  to  the  masters 
of  the  public  intellect.  With  the  exception  of  Buffon,  all  put 
pimento  into  their  sauces,  that  is  to  say,  loose  talk  or  coarseness 
of  expression.  We  find  this  even  in  the  "  Esprit  des  Lois ; "  there 
is  an  enormous  amount  of  it,  open  and  covered  up,  in  the  "  Lettres 
Persanes."  Diderot,  in  his  two  great  novels,  puts  it  in  by  hand- 
fuls,  as  if  during  an  orgy.  The  teeth  crunch  on  it  like  so  many 
grains  of  pepper,  on  every  jpage  of  Voltaire.  We  find  it,  not 
only  piquant,  but  strong  and  of  burning  intensity,  in  the 
"  Nouvelle  H61oise,"  scores  of  times  in  "  Emilet"  and,  in  the 
"Confessions,"  from  one  end  to  the  other,  'ft  was  the  taste  of 
the  day.  M.  de  Malesherbes,  so  upright  and  so  grave,  committed 
u  La  Pucelle"  to  memory  and  recited  it.  We  have  from  the  pen 
of  Saint-Just,  the  gloomiest  of  the  "Mountain,"  a  poem  as 
lascivious  as  jhat  of_Yoltaire,  while  Madame  Roland,  the  noblest 
of 'the  Girondins,  has  left  us  confessions  as  venturesome  and 
specific  as  those  of  Rousseau.3 

1  The  "Portier  de  Chartres." 

•  "Therese  Philosophe."    There  is  a  complete  literature  of  this  species. 
*  See  the  edition  of  M.  Dauban  in  which  the  suppressed  passages  are  restored. 


CHAP.  i.       THE  PROPAGATION  OF  THE  DOCTRINE.  259 

On  the  other  hand  there  is  a  second  box,  that  containing  the 
old  Gallic  salt,  that  is  to  say,  humor  and  raillery.  Its  mouth  is 
wide  open  in  the  hands  of  a  philosophy  proclaiming  the  sov- 
ereignty of  reason.  Whatever  is  contrary  to  reason  is  to  it  ab- 
surd and  therefore  open  to  ridicule.  The  moment  the  solemn 
hereditary  mask  covering  up  an  abuse  is  brusquely  and  adroitly 
torn  aside,  we  feel  a  curious  spasm,  the  corners  of  our  mouth 
stretching  apart  and  our  breast  heaving  violently,  as  if  a  kind  of 
sudden  relief,  an  unexpected  deliverance,  experiencing  a  sense  of 
our  recovered  superiority,  of  our  revenge  being  gratified  and  of 
an  act  of  justice  having  been  performed.  But  it  depends  on  the 
mode  in  which  the  mask  is  struck  off  whether  the  laugh  shall  be 
in  turn  light  or  loud,  suppressed  or  unbridled,  now  amiable  and 
cheerful,  or  now  bitter  and  sardonic.  Humor  (la  plaisanterit) 
comports  with  all  aspects,  from  buffoonery  to  indignation ;  no  liter- 
ary seasoning  affords  such  a  variety,  or  so  many  mixtures,  nor  one 
that  so  well  enters  into  combination  with  that  above-mentioned. 
The  two  together,  from  the  middle  ages  down,  form  the  principal 
ingredients  employed  by  the  French  cuisine  in  the  composition  of 
its  most  agreeable  dainties, — fables,  tales,  witticisms,  jovial  songs 
and  waggeries,  the  eternal  heritage  of  a  good-humored,  mocking 
race,  preserved  by  La  Fontaine  athwart  the  pomp  and  sobriety 
of  the  seventeenth  century  and,  in  the  eighteenth,  reappearing 
everywhere  at  the  philosophic  banquet.  Its  charm  is  great  to 
the  brilliant  company  at  this  table,  so  amply  provided,  whose 
principal  occupation  is  pleasure  and  amusement.  It  is  all  the 
greater  because,  on  this  occasion,  the  passing  disposition  is  in  har- 
mony with  hereditary  instinct,  and  because  the  taste  of  the  epoch 
is  fortified  by  the  national  taste.  Add  to  all  this  the  exquisite  art 
of  the  cooks,  their  talent  in  commingling,  in  apportioning  and  in 
concealing  the  condiments,  in  varying  and  arranging  the  dishes, 
the  certainty  of  their  hand,  the  finesse  of  their  palate,  their  ex- 
perience in  processes,  in  the  traditions  and  practices  which,  al- 
ready for  a  hundred  years,  form  of  French  prose  the  most  deli- 
cate aliment  of  the  intellect.  It  is  not  strange  to  find  them 
skilled  in  regulating  human  speech,  in  extracting  from  it  its  quin- 
tessence and  in  distilling  its  full  delight. 

IV. 

In  this  respect  four  among  them  are  superior,  Muntesq- ieu, 
Voltaire,  Diderot  and  Rousseau.  It  seems  sufficient  to  mention 


260  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  iv. 

their  names.  Modern  Europe  has  no  greater  writers.  And  yet 
their  talent  must  be  closely  examined  to  properly  comprehend 
their  power. 

In  tone  and  style  Montesquieu  is  the  first.  No  writer  is  more 
master  of  himself,  more  outwardly"  calm,  more  sure  of  his  mean- 
ing. His  voice  is  never  boisterous ;  he  expresses  the  most  pow- 
erful thoughts  with  moderation.  There  is  no  gesticulation;  ex- 
clamations, the  abandonment  of  impulse,  all  that  is  irreconcilable 
with  decorum  is  repugnant  to  his  tact,  his  reserve,  his  dignity. 
He  seems  to  be  always  addressing  a  select  circle  of  people  with 
acute  minds,  and  in  such  a  way  as  to  render  them  at  every  mo- 
ment conscious  of  their  acuteness.  No  flattery  could  be  more 
delicate ;  we  feel  grateful  to  him  for  making  us  satisfied  with  our 
intelligence.  We  must  possess  some  intelligence  to  be  able  to 
read  him,  for  he  deliberately  curtails  developments  and  omits  tran- 
sitions ;  we  are  required  to  supply  these  and  to  comprehend  his 
hidden  meanings.  He  is  rigorously  systematic  but  the  system  is 
concealed,  his  concise  completed  sentences  succeeding  each 
other  separately,  like  so  many  precious  coffers  or  caskets,  now 
simple  and  plain  in  aspect,  now  superbly  chased  and  decorated, 
but  always  full.  Open  them  and  each  contains  a  treasure ;  here 
is  placed  in  narrow  compass  a  rich  store  of  reflections,  of  emo- 
tions, of  discoveries,  our  enjoyment  being  the  more  intense 
because  we  can  easily  retain  all  this  for  a  moment  in  the  palm  of 
our  hand.  "That  which  usually  forms  a  grand  conception,"  he 
himself  says,  "is  a  thought  so  expressed  as  to  reveal  a  number 
of  other  thoughts,  and  suddenly  disclosing  what  we  could  not 
anticipate  without  patient  study."  This,  indeed,  is  his  manner ; 
he  thinks  with  summaries;  he  concentrates  the  essence  of  des- 
potism in  a  chapter  of  three  lines.  The  summary  itself  often 
bears  the  air  of  an  enigma,  of  which  the  charm  is  twofold;  we 
have  the  pleasure  of  comprehension  accompanying  the  satis- 
faction of  divining.  In  all  subjects  he  maintains  this  supreme 
discretion,  this  art  of  indicating  without  enforcing,  these  reti- 
cences, the  smile  that  never  becomes  a  laugh.  "  In  my  defence 
of  the  'Esprit  des  Lois,'"  he  says,  "that  which  gratifies  me  is  not 
to  see  venerable  theologians  crushed  to  the  ground  but  to  see 
them  glide  down  gently."  He  excels  in  tranquil  irony,  in  pol- 
ished disdain,1  in  disguised  sarcasm.  His  Persians  judge  France 

1  "Esprit  des  Lois,"  ch.  xv.  book  V.  (Reasons  in  favor  of  slavery).     The  "Defence  of  th« 
Esprit  des  Lois,"  I.  Reply  to  the  second  objection.     II.  Reply  to  the  fourth  objection. 


CHAP.  i.       THE  PROPAGATION  OF  THE  DOCTRINE.  261 

as  Persians,  and  we  smile  at  their  errors;  unfortunately  the  laugh 
is  not  against  them  but  against  ourselves,  for  their  error  is  found 
to  be  a  verity.1  This  or  that  letter,  in  a  sober  vein,  seems  a 
comedy  at  their  expense  without  reflecting  upon  us,  full  of  Ma- 
hometan prejudices  and  of  oriental  infatuation;2  reflect  a  mo- 
ment, and  our  infatuation,  in  this  relation,  appears  no  less.  Blows 
of  extraordinary  force  and  reach  are  given  in  passing,  as  if 
thoughtlessly,  against  existing  institutions,  against  the  transformed 
Catholicism  which  "in  the  present  state  of  Europe,  cannot  last 
five  hundred  years,"  against  the  degenerate  monarchy  which 
causes  useful  citizens  to  starve  to  fatten  parasite  courtiers.3 
The  entire  new  philosophy  blooms  out  in  his  hands  with  an  air 
of  innocence,  in  a  pastoral  romance,  in  a  simple  prayer,  in  an  art-S 
less  letter.4  None  of  the  gifts  which  serve  to  arrest  and  fix  the;  '. 
attention  are.  wanting  in  this  style,  neitEer  graH9euTT)f  imagina-l 
tion  nor  profound  sentiment,  vivid  characterization,  delicate  \ 
gradations,  vigorous  precision,  a  sportive  grace,  unlooked-for  bur-  ] 
lesque,  nor  variety  of  representation.  But,  amidst  so  many  in- 
genious devices,  apologues,  tales,  portraits  and  dialogues,  in  ear- 
nest as  well  as  when  masquerading,  his  deportment  throughout  is 
irreproachable  and  his  tone  is  ^perfect.  If,  as  an  author,  he  de- 
velops a  paradox  it  is  with  almostEnglish  gravity.  If  he  fully 
exposes  indecency  it  is  with  decent  terms.  In  the  full  tide  of 
buffoonery,  as  well  as  in  the  full  blast  of  license,  he  is  ever  the 
well-bred  man,  born  and  brought  up  in  the  aristocratic  circle  in 
which  full  liberty  is  allowed  but  where  good-breeding  is  supreme, 
where  every  idea  is  permitted  but  where  words  are  weighed, 
where  one  has  the  privilege  of  saying  what  he  pleases  but  on 
condition  that  he  never  forgets  himself. 

A  circle  of  this  kind  is  a  small  one,  comprising  only  a  select 
few ;  to  be  understood  by  the  multitude  requires  another  tone  of 
voice.  Philosophy  demands  a  writer  whose  principal  occupa- 
tion is  a  diffusion  of  it,  who  is  unable  to  keep  it  to  himself,  who 
pours  it  out  like  a  gushing  fountain,  who  offers  it  to  everybody, 
daily  and  in  every  form,  in  broad  streams  and  in  small  drops, 

'  Lcttef  24  (on  Louis  XIV.) 

*  Letter  18  (on  the  purity  and  impurity  of  things).  Lettir  35  (proofs  of  themissionof 
Mahomet). 

'  Letters  75  and  118. 

4  Letters  08  (on  the  modern  sciences),  46  (on  a  true  system  of  worship),  u  ana  14  (on  the 
nature  of  justice;. 


262  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  iv, 

without  exhaustion  or  weariness,  through  every  crevice  and  by 
every  channel,  in  prose,  in  verse,  in  imposing  and  in  trifling 
poems,  in  the  drama,  in  history,  in  novels,  in  pamphlets,  in 
pleadings,  in  treatises,  in  essays,  in  dictionaries,  in  correspondence, 
openly  and  in  secret,  in  order  that  it  may  penetrate  to  all  depths 
and  in  every  soil,  and  this  is  VjoJiaire*^"  I  have  accomplished 
more  in  my  day,"  he  says  somewhere,  "  than  either  Luther  or  Cal- 
vin," in  which  he  is  mistaken.  The  truth  is,  however,  he  has 
something  of  their  spirit.  Like  them  he  is  desirous  of  changing 
the  prevailing  religion,  he  takes  the  attitude  of  the  founder  of  a 
sect,  he  recruits  and  binds  together  proselytes,  he  writes  letters 
of  exhortation,  of  direction  and  of  predication,  he  puts  watch- 
words in  circulation,  he  furnishes  "  the  brethren "  with  a  device ; 
his  passion  resembles  the  zeal  of  an  apostle  or  of  a  prophet. 
Such  a  spirit  is  incapable  of  reserve ;  it  is  militant  and  fiery  by 
nature ;  it  apostrophizes,  reviles  and  improvises ;  it  writes  under 
the  dictation  of  impressions ;  it  allows  itself  every  species  of  ut- 
terance and,  if  need  be,  the  coarsest.  It  thinks  by  explosions ;  its 
emotions  are  sudden  starts,  and  its  images  so  many  sparks ;  it  lets 
the  rein  go  entirely ;  it  gives  itself  up  to  the  reader  and  hence  it 
takes  possession  of  him.  Resistance  is  impossible ;  the  contagion 
is  too  overpowering.  A  creature  of  air  and  flame,  the  most  ex- 
citable that  ever  lived,  composed  of  more  ethereal  and  more 
throbbing  atoms  than  those  of  other  men ;  none  is  there  whose 
mental  machinery  is  more  delicate,  nor  whose  equilibrium  is  at 
the  same  time  more  shifting  and  more  exact.  He  may  be  com- 
pared to  those  accurate  scales  that  are  affected  by  a  breath  but 
alongside  of  which  every  other  measuring  apparatus  is  incorrect 
and  clumsy.  But,  in  this  delicate  balance,  only  the  lightest 
weights,  the  finest  specimen  must  be  placed ;  on  this  condition 
only  it  rigorously  weighs  all  substances ;  such  is  Voltaire,  involun- 
tarily, through  the  demands  of  his  intellect,  and  in  his  own  be- 
half as  much  as  in  that  of  his  readers.  An  entire  philosophy, 
ten  volumes  of  theology,  an  abstract  science,  a  special  library,  an 
important  branch  of  erudition,  of  human  experience  and  inven- 
tion, is  thus  reduced  in  his  hands  to  a  phrase  or  to  a  stanza. 
From  the  enormous  mass  of  riven  or  compact  scoria  he  extracts 
whatever  is  essential,  a  grain  of  gold  or  of  copper  as  a  specimen 
of  the  rest,  presenting  this  to  us  in  its  most  convenient  and  most 
manageable  form,  in  a  simile,  in  a  metaphor,  in  an  epigram  thai 


CHAP.  i.      THE  PROPAGATION  OF  THE  DOCTRINE.  263 

becomes  a  proverb.  In  this  no  ancient  or  modern  writer  ap- 
proaches him ;  in  simplification  and  in  popularization  he  has  not 
his  equal  in  the  world.  Without  departing  from  the  usual  con- 
versational tone,  and  as  if  in  sport,  he  puts  into  little  portable 
phrases  the  greatest  discoveries  and  hypotheses  of  the  human 
mind,  the  theories  of  Descartes,  Malebranche,  Leibnitz,  Locke 
and  Newton,  the  diverse  religions  of  antiquity  and  of  modern 
tunes,  every  known  system  of  physics,  physiology,  geology,  mo- 
rality, natural  law,  and  political  economy,1  in  short,  all  the  gen- 
eralized conceptions  in  every  order  of  knowledge  to  which  hu- 
manity had  attained  in  the  eighteenth  century.  His  tendency  in 
this  direction  is  so  strong  as  to  carry  him  too  far ;  he  belittles 
great  things  by  rendering  them  accessible.  Religion,  legend,  an- 
cient popular  poesy,  the  spontaneous  creations  of  instinct,  the 
vague  visions  of  primitive  times  are  not  thus  to  be  converted  into 
small  current  coin ;  they  are  not  subjects  of  amusing  and  lively 
conversation.  A  piquant  witticism  is  not  an  expression  of  all 
this,  but  simply  a  travesty.  But  how  charming  to  Frenchmen, 
and  to  people  of  the  world !  And  what  reader  can  abstain  from 
a  book  containing  all  human  knowledge  summed  up  in  piquant 
witticisms  ?  For  it  is  really  a  summary  of  human  knowledge,  no 
important  idea,  as  far  as  I  can  see,  being  wanting  to  a  man  whose 
breviary  consisted  of  the  "  Dialogues,"  the  "  Dictionary,"  and  the 
"Novels."  Read  them  over  and  over  five  or  six  times  and  we 
then  form  some  idea  of  their  vast  contents.  Not  only  do 
views  of  the  world  and  of  man  abound  in  them,  but  again  they 
swarm  with  positive  and  even  technical  details,  thousands  of  little 
facts  scattered  throughout,  multiplied  and  precise  details  on 
astronomy,  physics,  geography,  physiology,  statistics,  and  on  the 
history  of  all  nations,  the  innumerable  and  personal  experiences 
of  a  man  who  has  himself  read  the  texts,  handled  the  instruments, 
visited  the  countries,  taken  part  in  the  industries,  and  associated 
with  the  persons,  and  who,  in  the  precision  of  his  marvellous 
memory,  in  the  liveliness  of  his  ever-blazing  imagination,  revives 
or  sees,  as  with  the  eye  itself,  everything  that  he  states  and  as  he 
states  it.  It  is  a  unique  talent,  the  rarest  in  a  classic  era,  the 
most  precious  of  all,  since  it  consists  in  the  display  of  actual  be- 

i  Cf.  "  Microm^gas,"  "  L'homme  aux  quarantes  £cus,"  "Dialogues  entre  A,  B,  C,'  "Diet 
Philosophique,"  passim.  In  verse,  "Les  systemes,"  La  'oi  naturelle,"  "Le  pour  et  ta 
cootre,"  "  Discouis  tut  1'hommc,"  etc. 


rt4  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  iv. 

ings,  not  through  the  gray  veil  of  abstractions,  but  in  themselves, 
as  they  are  in  nature  and  in  history,  with  their  visible  color  and 
forms,  with  their  accessories  and  surroundings  in  time  and  space, 
a  peasant  at  his  cart,  a  quaker  in  his  meeting-house,  a  German 
baron  in  his  castle,  Dutchmen,  Englishmen,  Spaniards,  Italians, 
Frenchmen,  in  their  homes,1  a  great  lady,  a  designing  woman, 
provincials,  soldiers,  courtesans,2  and  the  rest  of  the  human  med- 
ley, on  every  step  of  the  social  ladder,  each  an  abridgment  of 
his  kind  and  hi  the  passing  light  of  a  sudden  flash. 

For,  the  most  striking  feature  of  this  style  is  the  prodigious 
rapidity,  the  dazzling  and  bewildering  stream  of  novelties,  ideas, 
images,  events,  landscapes,  narratives,  dialogues,  brief  little 
pictures,  following  each  other  rapidly  as  if  in  a  magic-lantern, 
withdrawn  almost  as  soon  as  presented  by  the  impatient  magician 
who,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  girdles  the  world  and,  constantly 
accumulating  one  on  top  of  the  other,  history,  fable,  truth 
and  fancy,  the  present  time  and  times  past,  frames  in  his  work 
now,  with  a  parade  as  absurd  as  that  of  a  country  fair,  and  now, 
with  a  fairy  scene  more  magnificent  than  all  those  of  the  opera. 
To  amuse  and  be  amused,  "  to  diffuse  his  spirit  in  every  imagina- 
ble mode,  like  a  glowing  furnace  into  which  all  substances  are 
thrown  by  turns  to  evolve  every  species  of  flame,  corruscation 
and  odor,"  is  his  first  instinct.  "  Life,"  he  says  again,  "  is  an 
infant  to  be  rocked  until  it  goes  to  sleep."  Never  was  mortal 
more  excited  and  more  exciting,  "more  Incapable  of  silence  and 
more  hostile  to  ennui,3  better  endowed  for  conversation,  more  evi- 
dently destined  to  become  the  king  of  a  sociable  century  in  which, 
with  six  pretty  stories,  thirty  witticisms  and  some  confidence 
in  himself,  a  man  could  obtain  a  social  passport  and  the  certainty 
of  being  everywhere  welcome.  Never  was  there  a  writer  possess- 
ing to  so  high  a  degree  and  in  such  abundance  every  qualification 
of  the  conversationist,  the  art  of  animating  and  of  enlivening 

1  "Trait6  de  me'taphysique,"  chap.  L  p.  i.  (on  the  peasantry).  "Lettres  sur  les  Anglais," 
passim.  " Candide," passim.  "La  Princesse  de  Babylone,"  ch.  vii  viii.  Ix.  x.  and  xL 

*  "Diet  Phil."  articles  "Maladie,"  (Replies  to  the  princess).  "Candide,"  at  Madame  d» 
Parolignac.  The  sailor  in  the  wreck.  Narrative  of  Paquette.  The  "Inge'nu,"  the  first 
chapters. 

3  "Candide,"  the  last  chapter.  When  there  was  no  dispute  going  on,  it  was  so  weari- 
some that  the  old  woman  one  day  boldly  said  to  him :  "  I  should  like  to  know  which  is  worse, 
to  be  ravished  a  hundred  times  by  negro  pirates,  to  have  one's  rump  gashed,  or  be  switched 
by  the  Bulgarians,  to  be  scourged  or  hung  in  an  auto-da-f6,  to  be  cut  to  pieces,  to  row  in  th« 
galleys,  to  suffer  any  misery  through  which  we  have  passed,  or  sit  still  and  do  nothing  T ' 
"  That  is  a  great  question,"  said  Candide. 


CHAP.  i.       THE  PROPAGA  TION  OF  THE  DOCTRINE.  26$ 

discourse,  the  tilent  for  giving  pleasure  to  people  of  society. 
Perfectly  refined  when  he  chose  to  be,  confining  himself  without 
inconvenience  to  strict  decorum,  of  finished  politeness,  of  ex- 
quisite gallantry,  deferential  without  being  servile,  fond  without  be- 
ing mawkish,1  and  always  at  his  ease,  it  suffices  that  he  should  be 
before  the  public,  to  fall  naturally  into  the  proper  tone,  the  discreet 
ways,  the  winning  half-smile  of  the  well-bred  man  who,  introduc- 
ing his  readers  into  his  mind,  does  them  the  honors  of  the  place. 
Are  you  on  familiar  terms  with  him,  and  of  the  small  private  circle 
in  which  he  freely  unbends  himself,  with  closed  doors  ?  You  never 
tire  of  laughing.  With  a  sure  hand  and  without  seeming  to  touch 
it,  he  abruptly  tears  aside  the  veil  hiding  a  wrong,  a  prejudice,  a 
folly,  in  short,  any  human  idolatry.  The  real  figure,  whether 
deformed,  odious  or  spiritless,  suddenly  appears  in  this  instanta- 
neous flash ;  we  shrug  our  shoulders.  This  is  the  risibility  of  an 
agile,  triumphant  reason.  We  have  another  in  that  of  the  gay 
temperament,  of  the  droll  improvisator,  of  the  man  keeping 
youthful,  a  child,  a  boy  even  to  the  day  of  his  death,  and  who 
"gambols  on  his  own  tombstone."  He  is  fond  of  caricature, 
exaggerating  the  features  of  faces,  bringing  grotesques  on  the 
stage,2  walking  them  about  in  all  lights  like  marionettes,  never 
weary  of  taking  them  up  and  of  making  them  dance  in  new 
costumes;  in  the  very  midst  of  his  philosophy,  of  his  propagan 
dism  and  polemics,  he  sets  up  his  portable  theatre  in  full  blast, 
exhibiting  oddities,  the  scholar,  the  monk,  the  inquisitor,  Mau- 
pertuis,  Pompignan,  Nonotte,  Fre"ron,  King  David,  and  countless 
others  who  appear  before  us,  capering  and  gesticulating  in  their 
harlequin  attire. — When  a  farcical  talent  is  thus  added  to  the 
requirements  of  truth  humor  becomes  all-powerful;  for  it  grati- 
fies the  profound  and  universal  instincts  of  human  nature,  a 
mischievous  curiosity,  the  spirit  of  disparagement,  the  aversion 
to  constraint,  that  groundwork  of  ill-nature  which  is  established 
within  us  by  conventionality,  etiquette  and  the  social  obligation 
of  wearing  the  burdensome  cloak  of  respect  and  of  decency; 
moments  occur  in  life  when  the  wisest  is  not  sorry  to  throw  this 

1  For  example,  in  the  lines  addressed  to  the  Princess  Ulrique  in  the  preface  to  "  Alzire," 
dedicated  to  Madame  du  Chatelet 

"Souvent  un  peu  de  verite1,"  etc, 

*  The  scholar  in  the  dialogue  of  "  Les  Mais,"  (Jenny).  The  canonization  of  Saint  Cucufin. 
Advice  to  brother  Pediculoso.  The  diatribe  of  Doctor  Akakia,  Conversation  of  th« 
emperor  of  Chitv  rith  brother  Rigolo,  etc. 

23 


266  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  IV. 

half  aside  and  even  cast  it  off  entirely.  On  each  page,  now 
with  the  bold  stroke  of  a  hardy  naturalist,  now  with  the  quick 
turn  of  a  mischievous  monkey,  Voltaire  lets  the  solemn  or  serious 
drapery  fall,  disclosing  man,  the  poor  biped,  and  in  such 
attitudes!1  Swift  alone  dared  to  present  similar  pictures. 
What  physiological  crudities  relating  to  the  origin  and  end  of  our 
most  exalted  sentiments!  What  disproportion  between  such 
feeble  reason  and  such  powerful  instincts !  What  recesses  in  the 
wardrobes  of  politics  and  religion  concealing  their  foul  linen! 
We  laugh  at  all  this  so  as  not  to  weep,  and  yet  behind  this 
laughter  there  are  tears ;  he  ends  sneeringly,  subsiding  into  a  tone 
of  profound  sadness,  of  mournful  pity.  In  this  degree,  and  with 
such  subjects,  it  is  only  an  effect  of  habit,  or  as  an  expedient,  a 
mania  of  inspiration,  a  fixed  condition  of  the  nervous  machinery 
rushing  headlong  over  everything,  without  a  break  and  in  full 
speed.  Gayety,  let  it  not  be  forgotten,  is  still  a  mainspring 
of  action,  the  last  that  keeps  man  erect  in  France,  the  best  in 
\maintaining  the  tone  of  his  spirit,  his  strength  and  his  powers  of 
'resistance,  the  most  intact  in  an  age  when  men,  and  women  too, 
believed  it  incumbent  on  them  to  die  people  of  good  society, 
with  a  smile  and  a  jest  on  their  lips.8 

When  the  talent  of  a  writer  thus  accords  with  public  in- 
clinations it  is  a  matter  of  little  import  if  he  does  deviate  and 
stumble,  since  he  is  following  the  universal  tendency.  He  may 
wander  off  or  besmirch  himself  in  vain,  for  his  audience  is  only  the 
more  pleased,  his  defects  serving  him  as  advantageously  as  his 
good  qualities.  After  the  first  generation  of  healthy  minds  the 
second  one  comes  on,  the  intellectual  balance  here  being  equally 
inexact.  "  Diderot,"  saysJVoltaire,  "  is_tpo  hot  an  oven,  every 
thing  that  is  baked  in  it  gett5igl)urnt."  Or  rather,  he  is  an  erup- 
tive volcano  which,  for  forty  years,  discharges  ideas  of  every  order 
and  species,  boiling  and  fused  together,  precious  metals,  coarse- 
scoriae  and  fetid  mud ;  the  steady  stream  overflows  at  will  accord- 
ing to  the  roughness  of  the  ground,  but  always  displaying  thr 
ruddy  light  and  acrid  fumes  of  glowing  lava.  He  is  not  master 
of  his  ideas,  but  his  ideas  master  him ;  he  is  under  submission  to 
them ;  he  has  not  that  firm  foundation  of  common  practical  sense, 

1  "Diet.  Philosophique,"  the  article  "Ignorance."    "Les  Oreilles  du  Comte  de  Chester 
Seld,"  "L'homrae  au  quarante  ecus,"  chap.  vii.  and  xL 
1  Bachaumont,  III.  194.  (Tie  death  of  the  Comte  de  Maugiron). 


CHAP.  I.       THE  PROPAGATION  OF  THE  DOCTRINE.  267 

which  controls  their  impetuosity  and  ravages,  that  inner  dyke  of 
social  caution  which,  with  Montesquieu  and  Voltaire,  bars  the  way 
to  outbursts.  Everything  with  him  rushes  out  of  the  surcharged 
crater,  never  picking  its  way,  through  the  first  fissure  or  crevice 
it  finds,  according  to  his  haphazard  reading,  a  letter,  a  conver- 
sation, an  improvisation,  and  not  in  frequent  small  jets  as  with 
Voltaire,  but  in  broad  currents  tumbling  blindly  down  the  most 
precipitous  declivities  of  the  century.  Not  only  does  he  descend 
thus  to  the  very  depths  of  anti-religious  and  anti-social  doctrines, 
with  logical  and  paradoxical  rigidity,  more  impetuously  and  more  \ 
obstreperously  than  d'Holbach  himself;  but  again  he  falls  into  and  j 
sports  himself  in  the  slime  of  the  age,  consisting  of  obscenity,  and  I 
into  the  beaten  track  of  declamation.  In  his  leading  novels  he, 
dwells  a  long  time  ojjj^acions.^uivorationT'or  on  a  scene'oT f 
-lewdnegs^  Crudity  with  him  is  not  extenuated  by  malice  or 
glossed  over  by  elegance.  He  is  neither  refined  nor  pungent ;  he 
is  quite  incapable,  like  the  younger  Cre"billon,  of  depicting  the 
scapegrace  of  ability.  He  is  a  new-comer,  a  parvenue  in  stand- 
ard society;  you  see  in  him  a  plebeian,  a  powerful  reasoner,  an 
indefatigable  workman  and  great  artist,  introduced,  through  the 
customs  of  the  day,  at  a  supper  of  fashionable  livers.  He  en- 
grosses the  conversation,  directs  the  orgy,  and  in  the  contagion, 
or  on  a  wager,  says  more  filthy  things,  more  "  gueule'es"  than 
all  the  guests  put  together.1  In  like  manner,  in  his  dramas,  in 
his  "  Essays  on  Claudius  and  Nero,"  in  his  "  Commentary  on 
Seneca,"  in  his  additions  to  the  "  Philosophical  History,"  of  Ray- 
nal,  he  forces  the  tone  of  things.  This  tone,  which  then  prevails 
by  virtue  of  the  classic  spirit  and  of  the  new  fashion,  is  that  of 
sentimental  rhetoric.  Diderot  carries  it  to  extremes  in  the  exag- 
geration of  tears  or  of  rage,  in  exclamations,  in  apostrophes,  in 
tenderness  of  feeling,  in  violences,  in  indignations,  in  enthusi- 
asms, in  full-orchestra  tirades,  in  which  the  fire  of  his  brain  finds 
employment  and  an  outlet. 

On  the  other  hand,  among  so  many  superior  writers,  he  is  the 

*  "  The  novels  of  tht  younger  Cr6billon  were  in  fashion.  My  father  conversed  with 
Madame  de  Puisieux  on  the  ease  with  which  licentious  works  were  composed  •  he  contended 
that  it  was  only  necessary  to  find  an  amusing  idea  as  a  peg  to  hang  others  on  in  which  in- 
tellectual libertinism  should  be  a  substitute  for  taste.  She  challenged  him  to  produce  one  of 
this  kind.  At  the  end  of  a  fortnight  he  brought  her  'Les  bijoux  indiscrets'  and  fifty  louis." 
(M£moires  of  Diderot,  by  his  daughter).  "I  .a  Religieuse,"  has  a  similar  origin,  its  object 
Being  to  mystify  M.  de  Croismart. 


268  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  iv 

only  genuine  artist,  the  creator  of  souls,  the  mind  in  which  ob- 
jects, events  and  personages  are  born  and  become  organized  of 
themselves,  through  their  own  forces,  by  virtue  of  natural  affinities, 
involuntarily,  without  foreign  intervention,  in  such  a  way  as  to 
live  for  and  in  themselves,  safe  from  the  author's  intentions,  and 
outside  of  his  combinations.  The  composer  of  the  "  Salons,"  the 
"Petits  Romans,"  the  «  Entretien,"  the  "Paradoxe  du  Com6dien," 
and  especially  the  "Re"ve  de  d'Alembert"  and  the"  Neveu  de 
Rameau  "  is  a  man  of  an  unique  species  in  his  time.  However  alert_ 
and  brilliant  Voltaire's  personages  may  be,  they  are  always  pup- 
pets j  their  action  is  derivative ;  always  behind  them  you  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  author  pulling  the  strings.  Wlfh~~DTderot,  the 
strings  are  severed;  he  is  not  speaking  through  the  lips  of  his 
characters ;  they  are  not  his  comical  speaking-trumpets  or  danc- 
ing-jacks, but  independent  and  detached  creations,  with  an  action 
of  their  own,  a  personal  accent,  with  their  own  temperament, 
passions,  ideas,  philosophy,  style  and  spirit,  and  occasionally,  as 
in  the  "  Neveu  de  Rameau,"  a  spirit  so  original,  complex  and  com- 
plete, so  alive  and  so  deformed  that,  in  the  natural  history  of 
man,  it  becomes  an  incomparable  monster  and  an  immortal 
document.  He  has  expressed  everything  concerning  nature,1  art, 
morality  and  life2  in  two  small  treatises  of  which  twenty  succes- 
sive readings  exhaust  neither  the  charm  nor  the  sense.  Find 
elsewhere,  if  you  can,  a  similar  stroke  of  power  and  a  greater 
masterpiece,  "  anything  more  absurd  and  more  profound ! " 3 

Such  is  the  advantage  of  men  of  genius  possessing  no  con- 
trol over  themselves.  They  lack  discernment  but  they  have  in- 
spiration. Among  twenty  works,  either  shapeless,  unwholesome 
or  foul,  they  produce  one  that  is  a  creation,  and  still  better,  an 
animated  thing,  able  to  live  by  itself,  before  which  others,  fabri- 
cated by  merely  intellectual  people,  resemble  simply  well-dressed 
puppets.  Hence  it  is  that  Diderot  is  so  great  a  narrator,  a  mas- 
ter of  dialogue,  the  equal  in  this  respect  of  Voltaire,  and,  through 
a  quite  opposite  talent,  believing  all  he  says  at  the  moment  of 
saying  it ;  forgetful  of  his  very  self,  carried  away  by  his  own  re- 
cital, listening  to  inward  voices,  surprised  with  the  responses 
which  come  to  him  unexpectedly,  borne  along,  as  if  on  an  un- 

•  "Le  Reve  de  d'Alembert." 

1  "Le  neveu  de  Rameau." 

•  The  words  of  Diderot  himself  in  relation  to  the  "Reve  de  d'Alembert" 


CHAP.  I.      THE  PROPAGATION  OF  THE  DOCTRINE.  269 

known  river,  by  the  current  of  action,  by  the  sinuosities  of  the 
conversation  inwardly  and  unconsciously  developed,  aroused  by 
the  flow  of  ideas  and  the  leap  of  the  moment  to  the  most  un- 
looked-for imagery,  extreme  in  burlesque  or  extreme  in  magnifi- 
cence, now  lyrical  even  to  providing  Musset  with  an  entire 
strophe,1  now  comic  and  droll  with  outbursts  unheard  of  since 
the  days  of  Rabelais,  always  in  good  faith,  always  at  the  mercy 
of  his  subject,  of  his  inventions,  of  his  emotions,  the  most 
natural  of  writers  in  an  age  of  artificial  literature,  resembling  a 
foreign  tree  which,  transplanted  to  a  parterre  of  the  epoch,  swells 
out  and  decays  on  one  side  of  its  stem,  but  of  which  five  or  six 
branches,  thrust  out  into  full  light,  surpass  the  neighboring  un- 
derwood in  the  freshness  of  their,  sap  and  in  the  vigor  of  their 
growth. 

Rousseau  is  also  an  artisan,  a  man  of  the  people,  ill-adapted 
to  elegant  and  refined  society,  out  of  his  element  in  a  drawing- 
room  and,  moreover,  of  low  birth,  badly  brought  up,  sullied 
by  a  vile  and  precocious  experience,  highly  and  offensively 
sensual,  morbid  in  mind  and  in  body,  fretted  by  superior  and  dis- 
cordant faculties,  possessing  no  tact,  and  carrying  the  contamina- 
tion of  his  imagination,  temperament  and  past  life  into  his  austere 
morality  and  into  his  purest  idyls : 2  besides  this  he  has  no  fervor 
and  in  this  he  is  the  opposite  of  Diderot,  avowing  himself  "  that  his 
ideas  arrange  themselves  in  his  head  with  the  utmost  difficulty,  that 
certain  sentences  are  turned  over  and  over  again  in  his  brain  for 
five  or  six  nights  before  putting  them  on  paper,  and  that  a  letter  on 
the  most  trifling  subject  costs  him  hours  of  fatigue,"  that  he  cannot 
fall  into  an  easy  and  agreeable  tone  nor  succeed  otherwise  than 
"in  works  which  demand  application."3  As  an  offset  to  this, 
style,  in  this  ardent  brain,  under  the  influence  of  intense,  pro- 

1  One  of  the  finest  strophes  in  "Souvenir"  is  almost  literati;  transcribed  (involuntarily, 
suppose),  from  the  dialogue  on  Otaheite. 

*  "Nouvelle  H61oise,"  passim.,  and  notably  Julie's  extraordinary  letter,  second  part,  numb 
15.    "  Emile,"  the  preceptor's  discourse  to  Emile  and  Sophie  the  morning  after  their  marriag 
Letter  of  the  Comtesse  de  Boufflers  to  Gustavus  III.,  published  by  Geflroy,  ("  Gustave  II 
et  la  cour  de  France  ").     "  I  entrust  to  Baron  de  Lederheim,  though  with  reluctance,  a  box 
for  you  which  has  just  been  published,  the  infamous  memoirs  of  Rousseau  entitled  '  Confc 
sions.'    They  seem  to  me  those  of  a  common  scullion  and  even  lower  than  that,  being  di    \ 
throughout,  whimsical  and  vicious  in  the  most  offensive  manner.     I  do  not  recur  to  r  ') 
worship  of  him  (for  such  it  was) ;  I  shall  never  console  myself  for  its  having  caused  the  dej   j 
of  that  eminent  man  David  Hume,  who,  to  gratify  me,  ui.dertook  to  entertain  that  fill  j 
animal  in  England." 

*  "Confessions,"  part  i,  book  TIL 


270  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  17. 

longed  meditation,  incessantly  hammered  and  re-hammered,  be- 
comes more  concise  and  of  higher  temper  than  is  elsewhere  found. 
Since  La  Bruyere  we  have  seen  no  more  ample,  virile  phrases,  in 
which  anger,  admiration,  indignation,  studied  and  concentrated 
passion,  appear  with  more  rigorous  precision  and  more  power- 
ful relief.  He  is  almost  the  equal  of  La  Bruyere  in  the  arrange- 
ment of  skilful  effects,  in  the  aptness  and  ingenuity  of  develop- 
ments, in  the  terseness  of  impressive  summaries,  in  the  overpower- 
ing directness  of  unexpected  arguments,  in  the  multiplicity  of  liter- 
ary achievements,  in  the  execution  of  those  passages  of  bravura, 
portraits,  descriptions,  comparisons,  creations,  wherein,  as  in  a 
musical  crescendo,  the  same  idea,  varied  by  a  series  of  yet  more 
animated  expressions,  attains  to  ,or  surpasses,  at  the  last  note,  all 
that  is  possible  of  energy  and  of  brilliancy.  Finally,  he  has  that 
which  is  wanting  in  La  Bruyere ;  his  passages  are  linked  together  \ 
he  is  not  a  writer  of  pages  but  of  books ;  no  logician  is  more  con- 
densed. His  demonstration  is  knitted  together,  mesh  by  mesh, 
for  one^  two  and  three  volumes  like  a  great  net  without  an  open- 
ing in  which,  willingly  or  not,  we  remain  caught.  He  is  a  sys- 
tematizer  who,  absorbed  with  himself,  and  with  his  eyes  stub- 
bornly fixed  on  his  own  revery  or  on  his  own  principle,  buries 
himself  deeper  in  it  every  day,  weaving  its  consequences  off  one 
by  one  and  always  holding  fast  to  the  various  ends.  Do  not  go 
near  him.  Like  a  solitary,  enraged  spider  he  weaves  this  out 
of  his  own  substance,  out  of  the  most  cherished  convictions  of  his 
brain  and  the  deepest  emotions  of  his  heart.  He  trembles  at  the 
slightest  touch;  ever  on  the  defensive,  he  is  terrible,1  beside 
himself,2  even  venomous  through  suppressed  exasperation  and 
wounded  sensibility,  furious  against  an  adversary,  whom  he  stifles 
with  the  multiplied  and  tenacious  threads  of  his  web,  but  still 
more  redoubtable  to  himself  than  to  his  enemies,  soon  caught  in 
his  own  meshes,3  believing  that  France  and  the  universe  conspire 
against  him,  deducing  with  wonderful  subtlety  the  proofs  of  this 
chimerical  conspiracy,  made  desperate,  at  last,  by  his  over-plausi- 
ble romance  and  strangling  in  the  cunning  toils  which,  by  dint  of 
his  own  logic  and  imagination,  he  has  fashioned  for  himself. 

•  Letter  to  M.  de  Beaumont 

a  "Emile,"  letter  IV.  193.  "People  of  the  world  must  necessarily  put  on  disguise;  lot 
them  show  themselves  as  they  are  and  they  would  horrify  us,"  etc. 

1  See,  especially,  his  book  entitled  "  Rousseau  juge  de  Jean- Jacques,"  his  connectioa  witk 
Hume  and  the  last  books  of  the  "Confessions." 


CHAP.  I.       THE  PROPAGATION  OF  THE  DOCTRINE.  271 

One  runs  a  risk  of  killing  oneself  with  anus  of  this  description, 
b'tf  there  is  power  in  it.  Rousseau  was  powerful,  equally  so  with 
Voltaire;  it  may  be  said  that  the  las*  half  of  the  eighteenth 
century  belongs  to  him.  A  foreigner,  a  prctestant,  original  in 
temperament,  in  education,  in  heart,  in  mind  and  in  habits,  at 
once  misanthropic  and  philanthropic,  living  in  an  ideal  world 
constructed  by  himself,  entirely  opposed  to  the  world  as  it  is,  he 
finds  himself  standing  in  a  new  position.  No  one  is  so  sensitive 
to  the  evils  and  vices  of  actual  society.  No  one  is  so  affected  by 
the  virtues  and  happiness  of  the  society  of  the  future.  This  ac- 
counts for  his  having  two  holds  on  the  public  mind,  one  through 
satire  and  the  other  through  the  idyl.  These  two  holds  are  un- 
doubtedly slighter  at  the  present  day;  the  substance  of  their 
grasp  has  disappeared;  we  are  not  the  auditors  to  which  it 
appealed.  The  famous  discourse  on  the  influence  of  literature 
and  on  the  origin  of  inequality  seems  to  us  a  collegiate  oration ; 
an  effort  of  the  will  is  required  to  read  the  "  Nouv^lleJEI&Qise." 
The  author  is  repulsive  in  the  persistency  of  his  spitefulness  or  in 
the  exaggeration  of  his  enthusiasm.  He  is  always  in  extremes, 
now  moody  and  with  knit  brows,  and  now  streaming  with  tears 
and  with  outstretched  arms  to  Heaven.  Hyperbole,  prosopopaeia, 
and  other  literary  machinery  is  too  often  and  too  deliberately 
used  by  him.  We  are  tempted  to  regard  him  now  as  a  sophist 
making  the  best  use  of  his  arts,  now  as  a  rhetorician  cudgelling 
his  brains  for  a  purpose,  now  as  a  preacher  becoming  excited, 
that  is  to  say,  an  actor  ever  maintaining  a  thesis,  striking  an  atti 
tude  and  aiming  at  effects.  Finally,  with  Jhe  exception  of  the 
"  Confessions  "  his  style  soon  wearies  us ;  it  is  too  studied,  and 
too  constantly  overstrained.  The  author  is  always  the  author 
and  he  communicates  the  defect  to  his  personages.  His  Julie 
argues  and  descants  for  twenty  successive  pages  on  duelling,  on 
love,  on  duty,  with  a  logical  completeness,  a  talent  and  phrases 
that  would  do  honor  to  an  academical  moralist.  Common- 
place exists  everywhere,  general  themes,  a  raking  fire  of  ab- 
stractions and  arguments,  that  is  to  say,  truths  more  or  less 
empty  and  paradoxes  more  or  less  hollow.  The  smallest  detail 
of  fact,  an  anecdote,  a  trait  of  habit,  would  suit"  us  much  better, 
and  hence  we  of  to-day  prefer  the  precise  eloquence  of  ob- 
jects to  the  lax  eloquence  of  words.  In  the  eighteenth  century 
it  was  otherwise;  to  every  writer  this  oratorical  style  was  the 


272  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  iv 

prescribed  ceremonial  costume,  the  dress-coat  he  had  to  put 
on  for  admission  into  the  company  of  select  people.  That  which 
seems  to  us  affectation  was  then  only  proper;  in  a  classic  epoch 
the  perfect  period  and  the  sustained  development  constitute  de- 
corum and  are  therefore  to  be  observed.  It  must  be  noted, 
moreover,  that  this  literary  drapery  which,  with  us  of  the  present 
day,  conceals  truth  did  not  conceal  it  to  his  contemporaries ;  they 
saw  under  it  the  exact  feature,  the  perceptible  detail  no  longer 
detected  by  us.  Every  abuse,  every  vice,  every  excess  of  refine- 
ment and  of  culture,  all  that  social  and  moral  disease  which 
Rousseau  scourged  with  an  author's  emphasis,  existed  before 
them  under  their  own  eyes,  in  their  own  breasts,  visible  and  daily 
manifested  in  thousands  of  domestic  incidents.  In  applying 
satire  they  had  only  to  observe  or  to  remember.  Their  exper- 
ience completed  the  book,  and,  through  the  co-operation  of  his 
readers,  the  author  possessed  power  which  he  is  now  deprived 
of.  If  we  were  to  put  ourselves  in  their  place  we  should  re- 
cover their  impressions.  His  denunciations  and  sarcasms,  the 
harsh  things  of  all  sorts  he  says  of  the  great,  of  fashionable  people 
and  of  women,  his  rude  and  cutting  tone,  provokes  and  irritates, 
but  is  not  displeasing.  On  the  contrary,  after  so  many  compli- 
ments, insipidities  and  petty  versification  all  this  quickens  the 
blunted  taste ;  it  is  the  sensation  of  strong  common  wine  after 
long  indulgence  in  orgeat  and  preserved  citron.  Accordingly, 
his  first  discourse  against  art  and  literature  "lifts  one  at  once 
above  the  clouds."  But  his  idyllic  writings  touch  the  heart  more 
powerfully  than  his  satires.  If  men  listen  to  the  moralist  that 
scolds  them  they  throng  in  the  footsteps  of  the  magician  that 
charms  them;  especially  do  women  and  the  young  adhere  to 
one  who  shows  them  the  promised  land.  All  accumulated  dis- 
satisfactions, weariness  of  the  world,  ennui,  vague  disgust,  a  multi- 
tude of  suppressed  desires  gush  forth,  like  subterranean  waters, 
under  the  sounding  line  that  for  the  first  time  brings  them  to 
tight.  Rousseau  with  his  soundings  struck  deep  and  true 
through  his  own  trials  and  through  genius.  In  a  wholly  artificial 
society  where  people  are  drawing-room  puppets,  and  where  life 
consists  in  a  graceful  parade  according  to  a  recognized  model, 
he  preaches  a  return  to  nature,  independence,  earnestness,  pas- 
sion, and  efiusions,  a  manly,  active,  ardent  and  happy  existence 
£1  the  open  air  and  in  sunshine.  What  an  outlet  for  restrained 


CHAP.  I.       THE  PROPAGATION  OF  THE  DOCTRINE.  273 

faculties,  for  the  broad  and  luxurious  fountain  ever  bubbling  in 
man's  breast  and  for  which  no  issue  is  provided  into  this  beauti- 
ful world !  A  woman  of  the  court  is  familiar  with  love  as  then 
practised,  simply  a  preference,  often  only  a  pastime,  mere  gal- 
lantry of  which  the  exquisite  polish  poorly  conceals  the  shal- 
lowness,  coldness  and,  occasionally,  wickedness,  in  short,  ad- 
ventures, amusements  and  personages  as  described  by  Cr6billon 
the  younger.  One  evening,  about  to  go  out  to  the  opera 
ball,  she  finds  the  "Nouvelle  Heloise"  on  her  toilet-table;  it  is 
not  surprising  that  she  keeps  her  horses  and  footmen  waiting  from 
hour  to  hour,  and  that  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  she  orders 
the  horses  to  be  unharnessed,  and  then  passes  the  rest  of  the 
night  in  reading,  and  that  she  is  stifled  with  her  tears;  for  the 
first  time  in  her  life  she  finds  a  man  that  loves.1  In  like  manner 
if  you  would  comprehend  the  success  of  "  Emile,"  call  to  mind 
the  children  we  have  described,  the  embroidered,  gilded,  dressed- 
up,  powdered  little  gentlemen,  decked  with  sword  and  sash,  car- 
rying the  chapeau  under  the  arm,  bowing,  presenting  the  hand, 
rehearsing  fine  attitudes  before  a  mirror,  repeating  prepared  com 
pliments,  pretty  little  puppets  in  which  everything  is  the  work  of 
the  tailor,  the  hairdresser,  the  preceptor  and  the  dancing-master ; 
alongside  of  these,  little  ladies  of  six  years,  still  more  artificial, 
bound  up  in  whalebone,  harnessed  in  a  heavy  skirt  composed  of 
hair  and  a  girdle  of  iron,  supporting  a  head-dress  two  feet  in 
height,  so  many  veritable  dolls  to  which  rouge  is  applied,  and 
with  which  a  mother  amuses  herself  each  morning  for  an  hour 
and  then  consigns  them  to  her  maids  for  the  rest  of  the  day.1 
This  mother  reads  "  Emile."  It  is  not  surprising  that  she  imme- 
diately strips  the  poor  little  thing  and  determines  to  nurse  her 
next  child  herself. 

It  is  through  these  contrasts  that  Rousseau  is  strong.  He 
revealed  the  dawn  to  people  who  never  got  [up  until  noon,  the 
landscape  to  eyes  that  had  thus  far  rested  only  on  palaces  and 
drawing-rooms,  a  natural  garden  to  men  who  had  never  prome- 

1  "Confessions,"  part  2.  book  XI.  "  The  women  were  intoxicated  with  the  book  and  with 
the  author  to  such  an  extent  that  there  were  few  of  them,  even  of  high  rank,  whose  conquest 
I  could  not  have  made  if  I  had  undertaken  it  I  possess  evidence  of  this  which  I  do  not  can 
io  publish,  and  which,  without  having  been  obliged  to  prove  it  by  experience,  warrants  my 
itatemenL"  Cf.  G.  Sand,  "Histoire  de  ma  vie,"  I.  73. 

*  See  an  engraving  by  Moreau  called  "Les  Perils  Parrains."  Berquin,  passim,,  and  among 
others  "L'e'pe'e."  Remark  the  ready-made  phrases,  the  sty?*,  of  an  author  common  to  chfl 
dren,  in  Berquin  and  Madame  de  Genlis. 


274  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  IV, 

naded  outside  of  clipped  shrubs  and  rectilinear  borders,  the 
country,  the  family,  the  people,  simple  and  endearing  pleasures, 
to  townsmen  made  weary  by  social  avidity,  by  the  excesses  and 
complications  of  luxury,  by  the  uniform  comedy  which,  in  the 
glare  of  hundreds  of  lighted  candles,  they  played  night  after 
night  in  their  own  and  in  the  homes  of  others.1  An  audience 
thus  disposed  makes  no  clear  distinction  between  pomp  and  sin- 
cerity, between  sentiment  and  sentimentality.  They  follow  their 
author  as  one  who  makes  a  revelation,  as  a  prophet,  even  to  the 
end  of  his  ideal  world,  much  more  through  his  exaggerations 
than  through  his  discoveries,  as  far  on  the  road  to  error  as  on  the 
pathway  of  truth. 

These  are  the  great  literary  powers  of  the  century.  With 
inferior  successes,  and  through  various  combinations,  the  elements 
which  contributed  to  the  formation  of  the  leading  talents  also 
form  the  secondary  talents,  like  those  below  Rousseau, — Bernar- 
din  de  St.  Pierre,  Raynal,  Thomas,  Marmontel,  Mably,  Flo- 
rian,  Dupaty,  Mercier,  Madame  de  Stael;  belojst- ^oLtaire, — 
the  lively  and  piquant  intellects  of  Duclos,  Piron,  Galiani,  Presi- 
dent Des  Brosses,  Rivarol,  Champfort,  and  to  speak  with  precision, 
all  other  talents.  Whenever  a  vein  of  talent,  however  meagre, 
peers  forth  above  the  ground  it  is  for  the  propagation  and  carrying 
forward  of  the  new  doctrine ;  scarcely  can  we  find  two  or  three 
little  streams  that  run  in  a  contrary  direction  like  the  journal 
of  Fre*ron,  a  comedy  by  Palissot,  or  a  satire  by  Gilbert.  Philos- 
ophy winds  through  and  overflows  all  channels  public  and  private, 
through  manuals  of  impiety,  like  the  "Theologies  portatives," 
and  in  the  lascivious  novels  circulated  secretly,  through  epigrams 
and  songs,  through  daily  novelties,  through  the  amusements 
of  fairs,2  and  the  harangues  of  the  Academy,  through  tragedy 
and  the  opera,  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  the  century, 
from  the  "  CEdipe  "  of  Voltaire,  to  the  "  Tarare  "  of  Beaumarchais. 
It  seems  as  if  there  was  nothing  else  in  the  world.  At  least  it  is 
found  everywhere  and  it  floods  all  literary  efforts ;  nobody  cares 
whether  it  deforms  them,  content  in  making  them  serve  as  a 

1  See  the  description  of  sunrise  In  "Emile,"  of  the  Elyse"e  (a  natural  garden),  in  "Heloise.' 
And  especially  in  •''  Emile,"  at  the  end  of  the  fourth  book,  the  pleasures  which  Rousseav 
would  enjoy  if  he  were  rich. 

*  See  in  Marivaux,  ("La  double  inconstance,")  a  satire  on  the  court,  courtiers  and  the  cor 
ruptions  of  high  life,  opposed  to  the  inferior  class  who  have  maintained  primitive  simplicity 
Che  village  swains  and  asses. 


CHAP.  i.       THE  PROPAGATION  OP  THE  DOCTRINE.  273 

conduit.  In  1763,  in  the  tragedy  of  Manco-Capac1  the  "pru> 
cipal  part,"  writes  a  contemporary,  "is  that  of  a  savage  who 
utters  in  verse  all  that  we  have  read,  scattered  through  '  Emile ' 
and  the  '  Contrat  Social,'  concerning  kings,  liberty,  the  rights  of 
man  and  the  inequality  of  conditions."  This  virtuous  savage 
saves  a  king's  son  over  whom  a  high-priest  raises  a  poniard  and 
then,  designating  the  high-priest  and  himself  by  turns,  he  cries, 
"  Behold  the  civilized  man, — here  is  the  savage  man ! "  At  this 
line  the  applause  breaks  forth,  and  the  success  of  the  piece  is 
such  that  it  is  demanded  at  Versailles  and  played  before  the 
court 

All  this  has  still  to  be  expressed  with  skill,  brilliancy,  gayety, 
energy  and  scandal,  and  this  is  accomplished  in  "The  Mar- 
riage of  Figaro. "  Never  were  the  ideals  of  the  age  displayed 
under  a  more  transparent  disguise,  nor  in  an  attire  that  rendered 
them  more  attractive.  Its  title  is  the  "Folle  journ6e,"  and 
indeed  it  is  an  evening  of  folly,  an  after-supper  like  those  oc- 
curring in  the  fashionable  world,  a  masquerade  of  Frenchmen 
in  Spanish  costumes,  with  a  parade  of  dresses,  changing  scenes, 
couplets,  a  ballet,  a  singing  and  dancing  village,  a  medley  of  odd 
characters,  gentlemen,  servants,  duennas,  judges,  notaries,  lawyers, 
music-masters,  gardeners, pa stoureattx;  in  short,  a  spectacle  for  the 
eyes  and  the  ears,  for  all  the  senses,  the  very  opposite  of  the 
prevailing  drama  in  which  three  pasteboard  characters,  seated  on 
classic  chairs,  exchange  didactic  arguments  in  an  abstract  saloon. 
And  still  better,  it  is  an  imbroglio  displaying  a  superabundance 
of  action,  amidst  intrigues  that  cross,  interrupt  and  renew 
each  other,  through  a  p£le-m$le  of  travesties,  exposures,  surprises, 
mistakes,  leaps  from  windows,  quarrels  and  slaps,  and  all  in  spark- 
ling style,  each  phrase  flashing  on  all  sides,  where  responses 
seem  to  be  cut  out  by  a  lapidary,  where  the  eyes  would  forget  them- 
selves in  contemplating  the  multiplied  brilliants  of  the  dialogue  if 
the  mind  were  not  carried  along  by  its  rapidity  and  the  excite- 
ment of  the  action.  But  here  is  another  charm,  the  most  welcome 
of  all  in  a  society  passionately  fond  of  Parny ;  according  to  an 
expression  by  the  Comte  d'Artois,  which  I  dare  not  quote,  it  is 
an  appeal  to  the  senses,  the  arousing  of  which  constitutes  the 
spiciness  and  savor  of  the  piece.  The  fruit  that  hangs  ripening 

1  Bachaumont,  I.  254. 


»J6  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  iv 

and  savory  on  the  branch  never  falls  but  always  seems  on  th« 
point  of  falling ;  all  hands  are  extended  to  catch  it,  its  voluptu- 
ousness somewhat  veiled  but  so  much  the  more  provoking, 
declaring  itself  from  scene  to  scene,  in  the  Count's  gallantry,  in 
the  Countess's  agitation,  in  the  simplicity  of  Fanchette,  in  the 
jestings  of  Figaro,  in  the  liberties  of  Susanne,  and  reaching  its 
climax  in  the  precocity  of  Cherubino.  Add  to  this  a  continual 
double  sense,  the  author  hidden  behind  his  characters,  truth  put 
into  the  mouth  of  a  clown,  malice  enveloped  in  simple  utterances, 
the  master  duped  but  saved  from  being  ridiculous  by  his  deport- 
ment, the  valet  rebellious  but  preserved  from  acrimony  by  his 
gayety,  and  you  can  comprehend  how  Beaumarchais  could  have 
the  ancient  regime  played  before  its  head,  put  political  and  social 
satire  on  the  stage,  publicly  attach  an  expression  to  each  wrong 
so  as  to  become  a  by-word  and  ever  making  a  loud  report,1 
gather  up  into  a  few  traits  the  entire  polemics  of  the  philosophers 
against  the  prisons  of  the  State,  against  the  censorship  of  litera- 
ture, against  the  venality  of  office,  against  the  privileges  of  birth, 
against  the  arbitrary  power  of  ministers,  against  the  incapacity  of 
people  in  office,  and  still  better,  to  sum  up  in  one  character 
every  public  demand,  give  the  leading  part  to  a  plebeian,  bas- 
tard, bohemian  and  valet,  who,  by  dint  of  dexterity,  courage 
and  good-humor,  keeps  himself  up,  swims  with  the  tide,  and 
shoots  ahead  in  his  little  skiff,  avoiding  contact  with  larger  craft 
and  even  supplanting  his  master,  accompanying  each  pull  on 
the  oar  with  a  shower  of  wit  cast  broadside  at  all  his  rivals. 

After  all,  in  France  at  least,  the  chief  power  is  wit  (esprit}.  Lit- 
erature in  the  service  of  philosophy  is  all-sufficient.  The  public 
opposes  but  a  feeble  resistance  to  their  complicity,  the  mistress 
finding  no  trouble  in  convincing  those  who  have  already  been 
won  over  by  the  servant. 

*  "A  calculator  was  required  for  tne  place  but  a  dancer  got  it"  "The  sale  of  offices  is  * 
great  abuse."  "Yes,  it  would  be  better  to  give  them  for  nothing."  "Only  small  men  fea» 
small  literature."  " Chance  makes  the  interval,  the  mind  only  can  alter  that !  "  "A  court- 
tort — they  say  it  is  a  very  difficult  profession."  "  To  receive,  to  take,  and  to  ask,  is  the  se- 
cret in  three  words,"  etc.  Also  the  entire  monologue  by  Figaro  and  all  the  scenes  with 
Bridottn. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  FRENCH  PUBLIC. — I.  The  Aristocracy. — Novelty  commonly  repug- 
nant to  it. — Conditions  of  this  repugnance.  Example  in  England.— II.  The 
opposite  conditions  found  in  France. — Indolence  of  the  upper  class. — Phil- 
osophy seems  an  intellectual  drill. — Besides  this,  a  subject  for  conversation. 
— Philosophic  converse  in  the  i8th  century. — Its  superiority  and  its 
charm. — The  influence  it  exercises. — III.  Further  effects  of  indolence. — The 
sceptical,  licentious  and  seditious  spirit. — Previous  resentment  and  fresh  dis- 
content at  the  established  order  of  things. — Sympathy  for  the  theories 
against  it. — How  far  accepted. — IV.  Their  diffusion  among  the  upper  class. 
— Progress  of  incredulity  in  religion. — Its  causes. — It  breaks  out  under  the 
Regency. — Increasing  irritation  against  the  clergy. — Materialism  in  the  draw- 
ing-room.— Estimate  of  the  sciences. — Final  opinion  on  religion. — Scepti- 
cism of  the  higher  clergy. — V.  Progress  of  political  opposition. — Its  origin. 
— The  economists  and  the  parliamentarians. — They  prepare  the  way  for  the 
philosophers. — Political  fault-finding  in  the  drawing-rooms. — Female  liberal- 
ism.— VI.  Infinite,  vague  aspirations. — Generosity  of  sentiments  and  of 
conduct. — The  mildness  and  good  intentions  of  the  government. — Its  blind- 
ness and  optimism. 

I. 

THIS  public  has  yet  to  be  made  willing  to  be  convinced  and  to 
be  won  over ;  belief  occurs  only  when  there  is  a  disposition  to 
believe,  and,  in  the  success  of  books,  its  share  is  often  greater 
than  that  of  their  authors.  On  addressing  men  about  politics  or 
religion  their  opinions  are,  in  general,  already  formed;  their 
prejudices,  their  interests,  their  situation  have  confirmed  them  be- 
forehand ;  they  listen  to  you  only  after  you  have  uttered  aloud 
what  they  inwardly  think.  Propose  to  them  to  demolish  the  great 
social  edifice  and  to  rebuild  it  anew  on  quite  an  opposite  plan : 
ordinarily  your  auditors  will  consist  only  of  those  who  are  poorly 
lodged  or  shelterless,  who  live  in  garrets  or  cellars,  or  who  sleep 
under  the  stars,  on  the  bare  ground  in  the  vicinity  of  houses. 
The  common  run  of  people,  whose  lodgings  are  small  but  toler- 
able, dread  moving  and  adhere  to  their  accustomed  ways.  The 


278  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  n, 

difficulty  becomes  much  greater  on  appealing  to  the  upper  classes 
who  occupy  superior  habitations ;  their  acceptance  of  your  pro- 
posal depends  either  on  their  great  delusions  or  on  their  great  dis- 
interestedness. In  England  they  quickly  foresee  the  danger.  In 
vain  is  philosophy  there  indigenous  and  precocious ;  it  does  not 
become  acclimated.  In  1729,  Montesquieu  writes  in  his  mem- 
orandum-book :  "  No  religion  in  England ;  four  or  five  members 
of  the  House  of  Commons  attend  mass  or  preaching  in  the 
House.  .  .  .  When  religion  is  mentioned  everybody  begins  to 
laugh.  A  man  having  said :  I  believe  that  as  an  article  of  faith, 
everybody  laughed.  A  committee  is  appointed  to  consider  the 
state  of  religion  but  it  is  regarded  as  absurd."  Fifty  years  later 
the  public  mind  undergoes  a  reaction ;  all  with  a  good  roof  over 
their  heads  and  a  good  coat  on  their  backs l  see  the  bearing  of 
the  new  doctrines.  In  any  event  they  feel  that  closet  specula- 
tions are  not  to  become  street  preaching.  Impiety  seems  to  them 
an  indiscretion ;  they  consider  religion  as  the  cement  of  public 
order.  This  is  owing  to  the  fact  that  they  are  themselves  public 
men,  engaged  in  active  life,  taking  a  part  in  the  government,  and 
instructed  through  their  daily  and  personal  experience.  Prac- 
tical life  fortifies  them  against  the  chimeras  of  theorists;  they 
have  proved  to  themselves  how  difficult  it  is  to  lead  and  to  con- 
trol men.  Having  had  their  hand  on  the  machine  they  know 
how  it  works,  its  value,  its  cost,  and  they  are  not  tempted  to  cast 
it  aside  as  rubbish  to  try  another,  said  to  be  superior,  but  which, 
as  yet,  exists  only  on  paper.  The  baronet,  or  squire,  a  justice  on 
his  own  domain,  has  no  trouble  in  discerning  in  the  clergyman 
of  his  parish  an  indispensable  co-worker  and  a  natural  ally.  The 
duke  or  marquis,  sitting  in  the  upper  house  by  the  side  of  bish- 
ops, requires  their  votes  to  pass  bills,  and  their  assistance  to  rally 
to  his  party  the  fifteen  hundred  curates  who  influence  the  rural 
conscience.  Thus  all  have  a  hand  on  some  social  wheel,  large 
or  small,  principal  or  accessory,  and  this  endows^them  with 
earnestness,  foresight  and  good  sense.  On  coming  in  contact  with 
realities  there  is  no  temptation  to  soar  away  into  the  imaginary 
world ;  the  fact  of  one  being  at  work  on  solid  ground  of  itself 
makes  one  dislike  aerial  excursions  in  empty  space.  The  more 
occupied  one  is  the  less  one  dreams,  and,  to  men  of  business,  the 

1  Macaulay. 


CHAP.  II.      THE  PROPAGATION-  OF  THE  DOCTRINE.  279 

geometry  of  the  "  Contrat  Social"  is  merely  intellectual  gymnas- 
tics. 

II. 

It  is  quite  the  reverse  in  France.  "  I  arrived  there  in  I774,"1 
says  an  English  gentleman,  "  having  just  left  the  house  of  my 
father,  who  never  came  home  from  Parliament  until  three  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  and  who  was  busy  the  whole  morning  correcting 
the  proofs  of  his  speech  for  the  newspapers,  and  who,  after  hastily 
kissing  us,  with  an  absorbed  air,  went  out  to  a  political  dinner. 
...  In  France  I  found  men  of  the  highest  rank  enjoying  per- 
fect leisure.  They  had  interviews  with  the  ministers  but  only  to 
interchange  compliments;  in  other  respects  they  knew  as  little 
about  the  public  affairs  of  France  as  they  did  about  those  of 
Japan,"  and  less  of  local  affairs  than  of  general  affairs,  having  no 
knowledge  of  their  peasantry  other  than  that  derived  from  the 
accounts  of  their  stewards.  If  one  of  them,  bearing  the  title  of 
governor,  visited  a  province,  it  was,  as  we  have  seen,  for  outward 
parade;  whilst  the  intendant  carried  on  the  administration,  he 
exhibited  himself  with  grace  and  magnificence  by  giving  recep- 
tions and  dinners.  To  receive,  to  give  dinners,  to  entertain  guests 
agreeably  is  the  sole  occupation  of  a  grand  seignior;  hence  it  is 
that  religion  and  government  only  serve  him  as  subjects  of  con 
versation.  The  conversation,  moreover,  occurs  between  him 
and  his  equals,  and  a  man  may  say  what  he  pleases  in  good 
company.  Moreover  the  social  system  turns  on  its  own  axis,  like 
the  sun,  from  time  immemorial,  through  its  own  energy,  and  shall 
it  be  deranged  by  what  is  said  in  the  drawing-room  ?  In  any 
event  he  does  not  control  its  motion  and  he  is  not  responsible. 
Accordingly  there  is  no  uneasy  undercurrent,  no  morose  preoc- 
cupation in  his  mind.  Carelessly  and  boldly  he  follows  in  the 
track  of  his  philosophers ;  detached  from  affairs  he  can  give  him- 
self up  to  ideas,  just  as  a  young  man  of  family,  on  leaving  college, 
lays  hold  of  some  principle,  deduces  its  consequences,  and  forms 
a  system  for  himself  without  concerning  himself  about  its  appli- 
cation.2 

1  Stendhal,  "  Rome,  Naples  et  Florence,"  371. 

*  Morellet,  "  Me'moires,"  I.  139  (on  the  writings  and  conversations  of  Diderot,  d'Holbach 
and  the  atheists).  "  At  that  time,  in  this  philosophy,  all  seemed  innocent  enough,  it  being 
confined  to  th«  limits  of  speculation  and  never  seeking,  even  in  its  boldest  nights,  anything 
beyond  a  calm  in  Mllectual  exercise." 


28o  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  iv 

Nothing  is  more  enjoyable  than  this  speculative  inspiration. 
The  mind  soars  among  the  summits  as  if  it  had  wings;  it 
embraces  vast  horizons  in  a  glance,  taking  in  all  of  human  life, 
the  economy  of  the  world,  the  origin  of  the  universe,  of  religions 
and  of  societies.  Where,  accordingly,  would  conversation  be  if 
people  abstained  from  philosophy  ?  What  circle  is  that  in  which 
serious  political  problems  and  profound  criticism  are  not  admit- 
ted ?  And  what  motive  brings  intellectual  people  together  if  not 
the  desire  to  debate  questions  of  the  highest  importance  ?  For 
two  centuries  in  France  all  this  forms  the  pabulum  of  conversa- 
tion, and  hence  its  great  charm.  Strangers  find  it  irresistible;  noth- 
ing like  it  is  found  at  home ;  Lord  Chesterfield  sets  it  forth  as  an 
example.  It  always  turns,  he  says,  on  some  point  in  history,  on 
criticism  or  even  philosophy  which  is  much  better  suited  to  ra- 
tional beings  than  our  English  discussions  about  the  weather  and 
whist.  Rousseau,  so  querulous,  admits  "that  a  moral  subject 
could  not  be  better  discussed  in  a  society  of  philosophers  than 
in  that  of  a  pretty  woman  in  Paris."  Undoubtedly  there  is  a 
good  deal  of  idle  talk,  but  with  all  the  chattering  "  let  a  man  of 
any  authority  make  a  serious  remark  or  start  a  grave  subject  and 
the  attention  is  immediately  fixed  on  this  point;  men  and  women, 
the  old  and  the  young,  all  give  themselves  to  its  consideration 
on  all  its  sides,  and  it  is  surprising  what  an  amount  of  reason  and 
good  sense  issues,  as  if  in  emulation,  from  these  frolicsome  brains." 
The  truth  is  that,  in  this  constant  holiday  which  this  brilliant 
society  gives  itself,  philosophy  is  the  principal  amusement. 
Without  philosophy  the  ordinary  ironical  chit-chat  would  be 
vapid.  It  is  a  sort  of  superior  opera  in  which  every  grand 
conception  that  can  interest  a  reflecting  mind  passes  before  it, 
now  in  comic  and  now  in  sober  attire,  and  each  in  conflict  with 
the  other.  The  tragedy  of  the  day  scarcely  differs  from  it  except 
in  this  respect,  that  it  always  bears  a  solemn  aspect  and  is  performed 
only  in  the  theatres ;  the  other  assumes  all  sorts  of  physiognomies 
and  is  found  everywhere  because  conversation  is  everywhere 
carried  on.  Not  a  dinner,  nor  a  supper  is  given  at  which  it  does 
not  find  place.  One  sits  at  the  table  amidst  refined  luxuriousness, 
among  agreeable  and  well-dressed  women  and  pleasant  and 
well-informed  men,  a  select  company,  in  which  comprehension  is 
prompt  and  intercourse  safe.  After  the  second  course  the  inspira*- 
tion  breaks  out  in  the  liveliest  sallies,  all  minds  flashing  and 


CHAP.  ii.     THE  PROPAGATION  OF  THE  DOCTRINE.          281 

scintillating.  When  the  dessert  comes  on,  can  one  help  being 
witty  on  the  gravest  of  subjects?  Coffee  comes  on,  and  with  it 
the  questions  of  the  immortality  of  the  soul  and  the  existence 
of  God. 

To  form  any  idea  of  this  enticing,  daring  conversation,  we 
must  consult  the  correspondence  of  the  day,  the  short  essays 
-and  the  dialogues  of  Diderot  and  Voltaire,  whatever  is  liveliest, 
most  subtle,  most  piquant  and  most  profound  in  the  literature 
of  the  century;  and  yet  is  it  only  a  residuum,  a  lifeless  remnant. 
All  this  philosophy,  perpetuated  in  writing,  was  uttered  verbally, 
with  the  accent,  the  fire,  the  inimitable  naturalness  of  improvisa- 
tion, with  all  the  nervous  action  and  expression  of  malice  and  en- 
thusiasm. Cooled  down  and  on  paper,  it  still,  at  the  present  day, 
seduces  us  and  transports  us;  what  must  it  then  have  been,  issuing 
lively  and  vibrating  from  the  lips  of  Voltaire  and  Diderot  ?  Daily, 
in  Paris,  suppers  took  place  like  those  described  by  Voltaire,1  at 
which  "two  philosophers,  three  clever  intellectual  ladies,  M.  Pinto 
the  famous  Jew,  the  chaplain  of  the  Batavian  ambassador  of  the 
reformed  church,  the  secretary  of  the  Prince  de  Galitzin  of  the 
Greek  church,  and  a  Swiss  calvinist  captain,"  seated  around  the 
same  table,  for  four  hours  interchanged  their  anecdotes,  their 
flashes  of  wit,  their  remarks  and  their  decisions  "on  all  subjects 
of  interest  relating  to  science  and  taste."  The  most  learned  and 
distinguished  foreigners  daily  visited,  in  turn,  the  house  of  the 
Baron  d'Holbach, — Hume,  Wilkes,  Sterne,  Beccaria,  Veri,  the 
Abbe"  Galiani,  Garrick,  Franklin,  Priestley,  Lord  Shelburne,  the 
Comte  de  Creutz,  the  Prince  of  Brunswick  and  the  future  Elector 
of  Mayence.  With  respect  to  society  in  general  the  Baron  enter- 
tained Diderot,  Rousseau,  Helv6tius,  Duclos,  Saurin,  Raynal, 
Suard,  Marmontel,  Boulanger,  the  Chevalier  de  Chastellux,  the 
traveller  La  Condamine,  the  physician  Barthez,  and  Rouelle,  the 
chemist.  Twice  a  week,  on  Sundays  and  Thursdays,  "without 
prejudice  to  other  days "  they  dine  at  his  house,  according  to 
custom,  at  two  o'clock,  a  significant  custom  which  thus  leaves  to 
conversation  and  gayety  a  man's  best  powers  and  the  best  hours 
of  the  day.  Conversation,  in  those  days,  was  not  relegated  to 
night  and  late  hours;  a  man  was  not  forced,  as  at  the  present 

1  "L'Homme  aux  quarante  £cus."  Cf.  Voltaire,  "Me'moires,"  the  suppers  given  by 
Frederick  IL  "Never  in  any  place  in  the  world  was  there  greater  freedom  of  conversation 
concerning  the  superstitions  of  mankind." 

24* 


282  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  iv 

day,  to  subordinate  it  to  the  exigencies  of  work  and  money, 
of  the  Assembly  and  the  Exchange.  Talking  is  the  main  busi- 
ness. "  Entering  at  two  o'clock,"  says  Morellet,1  "  we  almost  all 
remained  until  seven  or  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening.  .  .  .  Here 
could  be  heard  the  most  liberal,  the  most  animated,  the  most  in- 
structive conversation  that  ever  took  place.  .  .  .  There  was  no 
political  or  religious  temerity  which  was  not  brought  forward  and 
discussed  pro  and  con.  .  .  .  Frequently  some  one  of  the  com- 
pany would  begin  to  speak  and  state  his  theory  in  full,  without 
interruption.  At  other  times  it  would  be  a  combat  of  a  singular 
kind  of  which  the  rest  remained  silent  spectators.  Here  I  heard 
Roux  and  Darcet  expose  their  theory  of  the  earth,  Marmontel  the 
admirable  principles  he  collected  together  in  his  '  Elements  de  la 
Litte'rature,'  Raynal,  telling  us  in  livres,  sous  and  deniers,  the 
commerce  of  the  Spaniards  with  Vera-Cruz  and  of  the  English 
with  their  colonies."  Diderot  improvises  on  the  arts  and  on  moral 
and  metaphysical  subjects,  with  that  incomparable  fervor  and 
wealth  of  expression,  that  flood  of  logic  and  of  illustration,  those 
happy  hits  of  style  and  that  mimetic  power  which  belonged  to 
him  alone  and  of  which  but  two  or  three  of  his  works  preserve 
even  the  feeblest  image.  In  their  midst  Galiani,  secretary  of 
the  Neapolitan  Embassy,  a  clever  dwarf  of  genius,  "a  sort  of 
Plato  or  Machiavelli  with  the  spirit  and  action  of  a  harlequin," 
inexhaustible  in  stories,  an  admirable  buffoon,  and  an  accom- 
plished sceptic,  "having  no  faith  in  anything,  on  anything  or 
about  anything,"2  not  even  in  the  new  philosophy,  braves  the 
atheists  of  the  drawing-room,  beats  down  their  dithyrambs  with 
puns,  and,  with  his  perruque  in  his  hand,  sitting  cross-legged  on 
the  chair  on  which  he  is  perched,  proves  to  them  in  a  comic  ap- 
ologue that  they  raisonnent  (reason)  or  rhonnent  (resound  or 
echo)  if  not  as  cruches  (blockheads)  at  least  as  cloches  (bells),"  in 
any  event  almost  as  poorly  as  theologians.  One  of  those  present 
says,  "  It  was  the  most  diverting  thing  possible  and  worth  the  best 
of  plays," 

How  can  the  nobles,  who  pass  their  lives  in  talking,  refrain 
from  the  society  of  people  who  talk  so  well  ?  They  might  as 
well  forbid  their  wives,  who  frequent  the  theatre  every  night,  and 
nho  perform  at  home,  not  to  attract  famous  actors  and  singers  to 

*  Morellet,  "M£moires,"  I.  133. 
*  Galiani,  "Correspon  dance,  " 


CHAP.  II.      THE  PROPAGATION  OF  THE  DOCTRINE.  283 

their  receptions,  Jelyotte,  Sainval,  PreVille,  and  young  Mole"  who, 
quite  ill  and  needing  restoratives,  "receives  in  one  day  more 
than  two  thousand  bottles  of  wine  of  different  sorts  from  the 
ladies  of  the  court,"  Mile.  Clairon,  who,  consigned  to  prison  in 
Fort  1'Eveque,  attracts  to  it  "an  immense  crowd  of  carriages," 
presiding  over  the  most  select  company  in  the  best  apartment  of 
the  prison.1  With  life  thus  regarded,  a  philosopher  with  his  ideas 
is  as  necessary  in  a  drawing-room  as  a  chandelier  with  its  lights. 
He  forms  a  part  of  the  new  system  of  luxuriousness.  He  is 
an  article  of  export.  Sovereigns,  amidst  their  splendor,  and 
at  the  height  of  their  success,  invite  him  to  their  courts  to 
enjoy  for  once  in  his  life  the  pleasure  of  perfect  and  free 
discourse.  When  Voltaire  arrives  in  Prussia,  Frederic  II.  is 
willing  to  kiss  his  hand,  fawning  on  him  as  on  a  mistress,  and,  at 
a  later  period,  after  such  mutual  fondling,  he  cannot  dispense 
with  carrying  on  conversations  with  him  by  letter.  Catherine  II. 
sends  for  Diderot  and,  for  two  or  three  hours  every  day,  she 
plays  with  him  the  great  game  of  the  intellect.  Gustavus  III.,  in 
France,  is  intimate  with  Marmontel,  and  considers  a  visit  from 
Rousseau  as  the  highest  honor.2  It  is  said  with  truth  of  Voltaire 
that  "he  holds  the  four  kings  in  his  hand,"  those  of  Prussia, 
Sweden,  Denmark  and  Russia,  without  mentioning  lower 
cards,  the  princes,  princesses,  grand  dukes  and  margraves.  The 
principal  rok  in  this  society  evidently  belongs  to  authors ;  their 
ways  and  doings  form  the  subject  of  gossip ;  people  never  weary 
of  paying  them  homage.  Here,  writes  Hume  to  Robertson,3  "  I 
feed  on  ambrosia,  drink  nothing  but  nectar,  breathe  incense  only 
and  walk  on  flowers.  Every  man  I  meet,  and  especially  every 
woman,  would  consider  themselves  as  failing  in  the  most  indis- 
pensable duty  if  they  did  not  favor  me  with  a  lengthy  and 
ingenious  discourse  on  my  celebrity."  Presented  at  court,  the 
future  Louis  XVI.,  aged  ten  years,  the  future  Louis  XVIIL,  aged 
eight  years,  and  the  future  Charles  X.,  aged  four  years,  each  recite 
a  compliment  to  him  on  his  works.  I  need  not  narrate  the 
return  of  Voltaire,  his  triumphant  entry,4  the  Academy  in  a  body 
coming  to  welcome  him,  his  carriage  stopped  by  the  crowd,  the 

1  Bachaumont,  III.  93  (1766),  II.  202  (1765). 

1  Geflroy,  "Gustave  III.,"  I.  114. 

•  Villemaln,  "Tableau  de  la  Literature  au  dix-huitieme  slecle,"  IV.  409. 
«  Grimm,  "Corresp.  littdraire,"  IV.  176.    De  Segur,  "Memolres,"  L  113. 


284  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  iv. 

thronged  streets,  the  windows,  steps  and  balconies  filled  with 
admirers,  an  intoxicated  audience  in  the  theatre  incessantly  ap- 
plauding, outside  an  entire  population  carrying  him  off  with 
huzzas,  in  the  drawing-rooms  a  continual  concourse  equal  to  that 
of  the  king,  grand  seigniors  pressed  against  the  door  with  out- 
stretched ears  to  catch  a  word  and  great  ladies  standing  on 
tiptoe  to  observe  the  slightest  gesture.  "  To  form  any  conception 
of  what  I  experienced,"  says  one  of  those  present,  "  one  should 
breathe  the  atmosphere  of  enthusiasm  I  lived  in.  I  spoke  with 
him."  This  expression  at  that  time  converted  any  new-comei 
into  an  important  character.  He  had,  in  fact,  seen  the  wonderful 
orchestra-leader  who,  for  more  than  fifty  years,  conducted  the 
tumultuous  concert  of  serious  or  court--v£tues  ideas,  and  who,  al- 
ways on  the  stage,  always  chief,  the  recognized  leader  of  universal 
conversation,  supplied  the  motives,  gave  the  pitch,  marked  the 
measure,  stamped  the  inspiration  and  drew  the  first  note  on  the 
violin. 

III. 

Listen  to  the  shouts  that  greet  him :  Hurrah  for  the  author  of 
the  Henriade  !  the  defender  of  Galas,  the  author  of  la  Pucelle  / 
Nobody  of  the  present  day  would  utter  the  first  nor  especially 
the  last  hurrah.  This  indicates  the  tendency  of  the  century ;  not 
only  were  writers  called  upon  for  ideas  but  again  for  antagonistic 
ideas.  To  render  an  aristocracy  inactive  is  to  render  it  fault- 
finding ;  man  willingly  accepts  a  law  only  when  he  assists  in  ap- 
plying it.  Would  you  rally  him  to  the  support  of  the  govern- 
ment ?  Then  let  him  take  part  in  it.  If  not  he  stands  by  as  a 
looker-on  and  sees  nothing  but  the  mistakes  it  commits,  feeling 
only  its  irritations,  and  disposed  oruy  to  criticize  and  to  hoot  at  it. 
In  fact,  in  this  case,  he  is  as  if  in  the  theatre,  where  he  goes  to  be 
*mused  and,  especially,  not  to  be  put  to  any  inconvenience. 
What  inconveniencies  in  the  established  order  of  things  and  in- 
deed in  any  established  order !  In  the  first  place,  as  regards  r^_ 
ligion.  To  the  amiable  "idlers"  whom  Voltaire  describes,1  to 
'""the  hundred  thousand  persons  with  nothing  to  do  but  to  play 
and  to  amuse  themselves,"  she  is  the  most  disagreeable  of  peda- 
gogues, always  scolding,  hostile  to  sensible  amusement  and  free 

1  "Princesse  de  Babylon e."    Cf.  "le  Mondain." 


CHAP.  n.     THE  PROPAGATION  OF  THE  DOCTRINE.  285 

discussion,  burning  books  which  one  wants  to  read,  and  imposing 
dogmas  that  are  no  longer  comprehensible.  In  plain  terms  she 
is  an  eyesore  and  whoever  wishes  to  throw  stones  at  her  is  wel- 
come. There  is  another  bond,  the  moral  law  of  the  sexes.  It 
seems  onerous  to  men  of  pleasure,  to  the  companions  of  Riche- 
lieu, Lauzun  and  Tilly,  to  the  heroes  of  Crebillon  the  younger, 
and  all  others  belonging  to  that  libertine  and  gallant  society  for 
whom  license  has  become  the  rule.  Our  fine  gentlemen  are  quite 
ready  to  adopt  a  theory  which  justifies  their  practices.  They  are 
very  glad  to  be  told  that  marriage  is  conventional  and  a  thing  of 
prejudice.  Saint-Lambert  obtains  their  applause  at  supper  when, 
raising  a  glass  of  champagne,  he  proposes  as  a  toast,  a  return  to 
nature  and  the  customs  of  Otaheite.1  The  last  fetter  of  all  is 
the  government,  the  most  galling,  for  it  enforces  the  rest  and 
keeps  man  down  with  its  weight  along  with  the  added  weight  of 
the  others.  It  is  absolute,  it  is  centralized,  it  works  through  fa- 
vorites, it  is  backward,  it  makes  mistakes,  it  has  reverses, — how 
many  causes  of  discontent  embraced  in  a  few  words !  It  is  op- 
posed by  the  vague  and  suppressed  resentment  of  the  former 
powers  which  it  has  dispossessed,  the  provincial  assemblies,  the 
parliaments,  the  grandees  of  the  provinces,  the  old  stock  of  no- 
bles, who,  like  the  Mirabeaus,  retain  the  old  feudal  spirit,  and  like 
Chateaubriand's  father,  call  the  Abbe"  Raynal  a  "  master-man." 
Against  it  is  the  spite  of  all  those  who  imagine  themselves  frus- 
trated in  the  distribution  of  offices  and  of  favors,  not  only  the 
provincial  nobility  who  remain  outside2  while  the  court  nobility 
are  feasting  at  the  royal  banquet,  but  again  the  majority  of  the 
courtiers  who  are  obliged  to  be  content  with  crumbs,  while  the 
little  circle  of  intimate  favorites  swallow  down  the  large  morsels. 
It  has  against  it  the  ill-humor  of  those  under  its  direction  who, 
seeing  it  play  the  part  of  Providence  and  providing  for  all,  ac- 
cuses it  of  everything,  the  dearness  of  bread  as  well  as  of  the  decay 
of  a  highway.  It  has  against  it  the  new  humanity  which,  in  the 
most  elegant  drawing-rooms,  lays  to  its  charge  the  maintenance  of 
the  antiquated  remains  of  a  barbarous  epoch,  illy -imposed,  illy 

1  Mme.  d'Epinay,  ed.  Boiteau,  I.  216,  at  a  supper  given  by  Mile.  Quinault,  the  comedian, 
»t  which  are  present  Saint-Lambert,  the  Prince  de ,  Duclos  and  Mme.  d'Epinay. 

*  For  example,  the  father  of  Mamont,  a  military  gentleman,  who,  having  won  the  Cross  of 
St  Louis  at  twenty-eight,  abandons  the  service  because  he  finds  that  promotion  is  only  for 
people  of  the  court.  In  retirement  on  his  estates  he  is  a  liberal,  teaching  bis  son  to  read  th« 
reports  made  by  Necker.  (Marshal  Marmont,  "  M6moires,"  I.  9). 


286  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  iv. 

apportioned  and  illy-collected  taxes,  sanguinary  laws,  blind  pros- 
ecutions, atrocious  punishments,  the  persecution  of  the  protestants, 
lettres-de-cachet,  and  prisons  of  State.  And  I  do  not  include  its  ex- 
cesses, its  scandals,  its  disasters  and  its  disgraces, — Rosbach,  the 
treaty  of  Paris,  Madame  du  Barry,  and  bankruptcy.  Disgust 
intervenes,  for  everything  is  decidedly  bad.  The  spectators  oi 
the  play  say  to  each  other  that  not  only  is  the  piece  itself  poor 
but  the  theatre  is  badly  built,  uncomfortable,  stifling  and  con- 
tracted, to  such  a  degree  that,  to  be  at  one's  ease,  the  whole  thing 
must  be  torn  down  and  rebuilt  from  cellar  to  garret. 

Just  at  this  moment  the  new  architects  appear,  with  their  spe- 
cious arguments  and  their  ready-made  plans,  proving  that  every 
great  public  structure,  religious  and  moral,  and  all  communities, 
cannot  be  otherwise  than  barbarous  and  insalubrious  since,  thus 
far,  they  are  built  up  out  of  bits  and  pieces,  by  degrees,  and 
generally  by  fools  and  savages,  in  any  event  by  common  masons, 
who  built  haphazard,  feeling  their  way  and  devoid  of  principles. 
They  are  genuine  architects  and  they  have  principles,  that  is  to 
say,  reason,  nature,  and  the  rights  of  man,  all  being  simple  and 
fruitful  principles  which  everybody  can  understand,  the  conse- 
quences derived  from  them  sufficing  to  substitute  for  the  ill- 
shapen  tenements  of  the  past,  the  admirable  edifice  of  the  future. 
To  irreverent,  epicurean  and  philanthropic  malcontents  the  temp- 
tation is  a  great  one.  They  readily  adopt  maxims  which  seem 
in  conformity  with  their  secret  wishes ;  at  least  they  adopt  them 
in  theory  and  in  words.  The  imposing  terms  of  liberty,  justice, 
public  good,  man's  dignity,  are  so  admirable  and  besides,  so 
vague !  What  heart  can  refuse  to  cherish  them,  and  what  intel- 
ligence can  foretell  their  innumerable  applications  ?  And  all  the 
more  because,  up  to  the  last,  the  theory  does  not  descend  from 
the  heights,  being  confined  to  abstractions,  resembling  an  ac- 
ademic oration,  always  treating  of  man  in  himself,  of  the  social 
contract,  and  of  the  imaginary  and  perfect  civic  body.  Is  there 
a  courtier  at  Versailles  who  would  refuse  to  proclaim  equality  in 
the  city  of  the  Salentini!  Communication  between  the  two 
stories  of  the  human  intellect,  the  upper  where  abstract  reason- 
ing spins  its  arguments,  and  the  lower  where  an  active  faith 
reposes,  is  neither  complete  nor  immadiate.  A  certain  set  of 
principles  never  leave  the  upper  stories ;  they  remain  there  in  the 
position  of  curiosities,  sc  many  delicate,  ingenious  subtleties 


CHAP.  H.      THE  PROPAGATION  OF  THE  DOCTRINE.  287 

of  which  a  parade  is  willingly  made  but  which  scarcely  ever 
enter  into  actual  service.  If  the  proprietor  sometimes  transfers 
them  to  the  lower  story  he  makes  but  a  partial  use  of  them; 
established  customs,  anterior  and  more  powerful  interests  and 
instincts  restrict  their  employment.  In  this  respect  he  is  not 
acting  in  bad  faith,  but  as  a  man,  each  of  us  possessing  truths 
which  he  does  not  put  in  practice.  One  evening  Target,  a  dull 
lawyer,  having  taken  a  pinch  from  the  snuff-box  of  the  Marechale 
de  Beauvau,  the  latter,  whose  drawing-room  is  a  small  dem- 
ocratic club,  is  amazed  at  such  monstrous  familiarity.  Later, 
Mirabeau,  on  returning  home  just  after  having  voted  for  the 
abolition  of  nobility  titles,  takes  his  servant  by  the  ear  and  bawls 
out  to  him  in  his  stentorian  voice,  "  Look  here,  drole,  I  trust  that 
to  you  I  shall  always  be  Monsieur  le  Comte  ! "  This  shows  to 
what  extent  new  theories  are  admitted  into  an  aristocratic  brain. 
They  occupy  the  whole  of  the  upper  story,  and  there,  with  a 
pleasing  murmur,  they  weave  the  web  of  interminable  conversa- 
tion ;  their  buzzing  lasts  throughout  the  century ;  never  have  the 
drawing-rooms  seen  such  an  outpouring  of  fine  sentences  and 
of  fine  words.  Something  of  all  this  drops  from  the  upper  to  the 
lower  story,  if  only  as  dust,  that  is  to  say,  hope,  faith  in  the  future, 
belief  in  reason,  a  love  of  truth,  the  generosity  of  youthful  feel- 
ing, the  enthusiasm  that  quickly  passes  but  which  is  often  exalted 
into  self-abnegation  and  devotion. 

IV. 

Let  us  follow  the  progress  of  philosophy  in  the  upper  class. 
S^eligion^is  the  first  to  receive  the  severest  attacks.  The  small 
group  of  sceptics,  which  is  hardly  perceptible  under  Louis  XIV., 
has  obtained  its  recruits  in  the  dark;  in  1698  the  Palatine,  the 
mother  of  the  Regent,  writes  that  "we  scarcely  meet  a  young 
man  now  who  is  not  ambitious  of  being  an  atheist." *  Under 
the  Regency,  unbelief  comes  out  into  open  daylight.  "  I  doubt," 
says  this  lady  again,  in  1722,  "if,  in  all  Paris,  a  hundred  individ- 
uals can  be  found,  either  ecclesiastics  or  laymen,  who  have 
any  true  faith,  or  even  believe  in  our  Lord.  It  makes  one  trem- 
ble. .  .  ."  The  position  of  an  ecclesiastic  in  society  is  already 
difficult.  He  is  looked  upon,  apparently,  as  either  a  puppet  or  a 

1  Aubertin,  "L'Etprit-public,"  In  the  i8th  century,  p.  7. 


«88  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  IV. 

butt.1  "The  moment  we  appear,"  says  one  of  them,  "we  are 
forced  into  discussion ;  we  are  called  upon  to  prove,  for  example, 
the  utility  of  prayer  to  an  unbeliever  in  God,  and  the  necessity 
of  fasting  to  a  man  who  has  all  his  life  denied  the  immortality 
of  the  soul;  the  effort  is  very  irksome,  while  those  who  laugh 
are  not  on  our  side." — It  is  not  long  before  the  continued 
scandal  of  confession  tickets  and  the  stubbornness  of  the  bishops 
in  not  allowing  ecclesiastical  property  to  be  taxed,  excites 
opinion  against  the  clergy  and,  as  a  matter  of  course,  against 
religion  itself.  "There  is  danger,"  says  Barbier  in  1751,  "that 
this  may  end  seriously;  we  may  some  day  see  a  revolution  in 
this  country  in  favor  of  protestantism."  2  "  The  hatred  against  the 
priests,"  writes  d'Argenson  in  1753,  "is  carried  to  extremes.  They 
scarcely  show  themselves  in  the  streets  without  being  hooted  at. 
...  As  our  nation  and  our  century  are  quite  otherwise  enlight- 
ened (than  in  the  time  of  Luther),  it  will  be  carried  far  enough ; 
they  will  expel  the  priests,  abolish  the  priesthood  and  get  rid  of 
all  revelation  and  all  mystery.  .  .  .  One  dare  not  speak  in  be- 

^.half  of  the  clgrgy  in  social  circles;  one  is  scoffed  at  and  regarded 
as  a  familiar  of  the  inquisition.  The  priests  remark  that,  this 
year,  there  is  a  diminution  of  more  than  one-third  in  the  num- 
ber of  communicants.  The  College_of_Jhe  ^Jesuits  is  being  de- 
serted ;  one  hundred  and  twerity~boarders  have  been  withdrawn 
from  these  so  greatly  defamed  monks.  It  has  been  observed 
also  that,  during  the  carnival  in  Paris,  the  number  of  masks 
counterfeiting  ecclesiastical  dress, — bishops,  abbes,  monks  and 
nuns, — was  never  so  great."  So  deep  is  this  antipathy,  the  most 
mediocre  books  become  the  rage  so  long  as  they  are  anti- 
christian  and  condemned  as  such.  In  1748  a  work  by  Toussaint 

•  called  "  Les  Mceurs,"  in  favor  of  natural  religion  suddenly  be- 
comes so  famous  "that  there  is  no  one  among  a  certain  class  of 
people,"  says  Barbier,  "man  or  woman,  pretending  to  be  intel- 
lectual, who  is  not  eager  to  see  it."  People  accost  each  other  on 
their  promenades,  Have  you  read  "  Les  Moeurs  ?  " — Ten  years 
later  they  are  beyond  deism.  "  Materialism,"  again  says  Barbier, 
"is  the  great  grievance."  "Almost  all  people  of  acquirements 
and  of  wit,"  writes  d'Argenson,  "inveigh  against  our  holy  re- 

i  Montesquieu,  "Lettres  Persanes,"  (Letter  61)     C£  Voltaire,  ("Diner  du  Comte  da 
Boulainvilliers"). 
1  Aubertin,  pp.  281,  382,  285,  »&). 


CHAP.  II.      THE  PROPAGATION  OF  THE  DOCTRINE.  289 

ligion.  ...  It  is  attacked  on  all  sides,  and,  what  animates  unbe- 
lievers still  more,  is  the  efforts  made  by  the  devout  to  compel 
belief.  They  publish  books  which  are  but  little  read ;  disputes 
no  longer  take  place,  everything  being  laughed  at,  while  people 
persist  in  materialism."  Horace  Walpole,  who  returns  to  France 
in  1765 l  and  whose  good  sense  anticipates  the  danger,  is  aston- 
ished at  such  imprudence:  "I  dined  to-day  with  a  dozen 
savans,  and  although  all  the  servants  were  waiting,  the  conversa- 
tion was  much  more  unrestrained,  even  on  the  Old  Testament, 
than  I  would  suffer  at  my  own  table  in  England  even  if  a  single 
footman  was  present."  People  dogmatize  everywhere.  "  Laugh- 
ing is  as  much  out  'of  fashion  as  pantins  or  bilboquets.  Good 
folks,  they  have  no  time  to  laugh !  There  is  God  and  the  king 
to  be  pulled  down  first ;  and  men  and  women,  one  and  all,  are 
devoutly  employed  in  the  demolition.  They  think  me  quite 
profane  for  having  any  belief  left.  .  .  .  Do  you  know  who  the 
philosophers  are,  or  what  the  term  means  here?  In  the  first 
place  it  comprehends  almost  everybody ;  and  in  the  next,  means 
men,  who,  avowing  war  against  poj)£ry,  aim,  many  of  them,  at 
a  subversion  of  all  religion.  .  .  .  These  savans — I  beg  their  par- 
dons, the  philosophers — are  insupportable,  superficial,  overbear- 
ing and  fanatic :  they  preach  incessantly  and  their  avowed  doc- 
trine is  atheism,  you  would  not  believe  how  openly.  Voltaire 
himself  does  not  satisfy  them.  One  of  their  lady  devotees  said 
of  him,  '  He  is  a  bigot,  a  deist ! ' " 

This  is  very  strong,  and  yet  we  have  not  come  to  the  end  of 
it;  for,  thus  far,  impiety  Js  less  a  conviction  than  the  fashion.. 
Walpole,  a  careful  observer,  is  not  deluded  by  it.  "  By  what  I 
have  said  of  their  religious  or  rather  irreligious  opinions,  you  must 
not  conclude  their  people  of  quality  atheists — at  least  not  the 
men.  Happily  for  them,  poor  souls !  they  are  not  capable  of  go- 
ing so  far  into  thinking.  They  assent  to  a  great  deal  because  it 
is  the  fashion,  and  because  they  don't  know  how  to  contradict." 
Now  "that  dandies  are  antiquated"  and  everybody  is  "a  philos- 
opher" "they  are  philosophers."  It  is  essential  to  be  like  all  the 
rest  of  the  world.  But  that  which  they  best  appreciate  in  the 
new  materialism  is  the  pungency  of  paradox  and  the  freedom 
given  to  pleasure.  They  are  like  the  boys  of  good  families,  fond 

'•  Horace  Walpole,   "  Letters  and  Correspondence,"  Sept  27th,  October  io,th  and  28th, 
November  19,  1765,  January  25,  1766. 

25 


290  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  iv 

of  playing  tricks  on  their  ecclesiastical  preceptor.  They  take  out 
of  learned  theories  just  what  is  wanted  to  make  a  dunce-cap,  and 
derive  the  more  amusement  from  the  fun  if  it  is  seasoned  with 
impiety.  A  seignior  of  the  court  having  seen  Doyen's  picture  of 
"St.  Genevieve  and  the  plague-stricken,"  sends  to  a  painter  the 
following  day  to  come  to  him  at  his  mistress's  domicile:  "I 
would  like,"  he  says  to  him,  "  to  have  Madame  painted  in  a 
swing  put  in  motion  by  a  bishop ;  you  may  place  me  in  such  a 
way  that  I  may  see  the  ankles  of  that  handsome  woman,  and 
even  more,  if  you  want  to  enliven  your  picture." *  The  licentious 
song  "Marotte"  "spreads  like  wildfire;"  "a  fortnight  after  .its 
publication,"  says  Colle",  "  I  met  no  one  without  a  copy ;  and  it  is 
the  vaudeville,  that  is  to  say,  the  clerical  assembly,  which  gives  it 
its  popularity."  The  more  irreligious  a  licentious  book  is  the 
more  it  is  prized ;  when  it  cannot  be  printed  it  is  copied  in  manu- 
script. Colle"  counts  "perhaps  two  thousand  manuscript  copies 
of  'La  Pucelle'  by  Voltaire,  scattered  about  Paris  in  one  month." 
"The  magistrates  themselves  burn  it  only  for  form's  sake.  "It 
must  not  be  supposed  that  the  hangman  is  allowed  to  burn  the 
books  whose  titles  figure  in  the  decree  of  the  Court.  Messieurs 
would  be  loath  to  deprive  their  libraries  of  the  copy  of  those  works 
which  fall  to  them  by  right  and  have  the  registrar  supply  its  place 
with  a  few  poor  records  of  chicanery  of  which  there  is  no  scanty 
provision."2 

But,  as  the  century  advances,  infidelity  becomes  less  obstreper- 
ous and  more  resolute.  It  invigorates  itself  at  the  fountain- 
head;  the  women  themselves  begin  to  be  infatuated  with  tha 
sciences.  In  I782,3  one  of  Mme.  de  Genlis's  characters  writes, 
"  Five  years  ago  I  left  them  thinking  only  of  their  attire  and  the 
preparation  of  then:  suppers ;  I  now  find  them  all  scientific  and 
witty."  We  find  in  the  study  of  a  fashionable  woman,  alongside. 
of  a  small  altar  dedicated  to  Benevolence  or  Friendship,  a  dic- 
tionary of  natural  history  and  treatises  on  physics  and  chemistry. 
A  woman  no  longer  has  herself  painted  as  a  goddess  on  a  cloud 
but  in  a  laboratory,  seated  amidst  squares  and  telescopes.4  The 

»  "Journal  et  Memoires  de  Coll6,"  published  by  H.  Bonhomme,  II.  24  (October,  1755),  and 
III.  165  (October,  1767). 

*  "Corresp.  Iitt6raire,"  by  Grimm  (September,  October,  1770). 

»  Mme.  de  Genlis,  "Adele  et  Theodore,"  I.  319. 

«De  GoDixmrt,  "La  femme  au  dix-huitieme  siecle,"  371-373.  Bacbaumont,  I.  934  (April 
i&  1763). 


CHAP.  ii.     THE  PROPAGATION  OF  THE  DOCTRINSt  291 

Marquise  de  Nesle,  the  Comtesse  de  Brancas,  the  Comtesse  dc 
Pens,  the  Marquise  de  Polignac,  are  with  Rouelle  when  he  un- 
dertakes to  melt  and  volatilize  the  diamond.  Associations  of 
twenty  or  twenty-five  persons  are  formed  in  the  drawing-rooms  to 
attend  lectures  either  on  physics,  applied  chemistry,  mineralogy 
or  on  botany.  Fashionable  women  at  the  public  meetings  of  the 
Academy  of  Inscriptions  applaud  dissertations  on  the  bull  Apis, 
and  reports  on  the  Egyptian,  Phoenician  and  Greek  languages. 
Finally,  in  1786,  they  succeed  in  opening  the  doors  of  the  Col- 
lege de  France.  Nothing  deters  them.  Many  of  them  use  the 
lancet  and  even  the  scalpel ;  the  Marquise  de  Voyer  attends  on 
dissections,  and  the  young  Comtesse  de  Coigny  dissects  with  her 
own  hands. — The  current  infidelity  finds  fresh  support  on  thii 
foundation,  which  is  that  of  the  prevailing  philosophy.  Towards 
the  end  of  the  century1  "we  see  young  persons  who  have  been 
in  society  six  or  seven  years  openly  pluming  themselves  on  their 
irreligion,  thinking  that  impiety  makes  up  for  wit,  and  that  to  be 
an  atheist  is  to  be  a  philosopher."  There  are,  undoubtedly,  a, 
good  many  deists,  especially  after  Rousseau  appeared,  but  I\ 
question  whether,  out  of  a  hundred  persons,  there  were  in  Paris  at  J 
this  time  ten  Christian  men  or  women.  "The  fashionable  world 
for  ten  years  past,"  says  Mercier2  in  1783,  "has  not  attended 
mass.  People  go  only  on  Sundays  so  as  not  to  scandalize  their] 
lackeys  while  the  lackeys  well  know  that  it  is  on  their  account."' 
The  Due  de  Coigny,3  on  his  estate  near  Amiens,  refuses  to  be 
prayed  for  and  threatens  his  curate  if  he  takes  that  liberty  to  have 
him  cast  out  of  his  pulpit;  his  son  becomes  ill  and  he  prohibits 
the  administering  of  the  sacraments ;  the  son  dies  and  he  opposes 
the  usual  obsequies,  burying  the  body  in  his  garden ;  becoming  ill 
himself  he  closes  his  door  against  the  bishop  of  Amiens,  who 
comes  to  see  him  twelve  times,  and  dies  as  he  had  lived.  A 
scandal  of  this  kind  is  doubtless  notorious  and,  therefore,  rare. 
Almost  everybody,  male  and  female,  "  ally  with  freedom  of  ideas  ^ 
a  proper  observance  of  forms."  *  When  a  maid  appears  and  says 
to  her  mistress,  "  Madame  la  Duchesse,  the  Host  (le  ban  Dieu)  is 
outside,  will  you  allow  him  to  enter?  He  desires  to  have  the 

'  Mme.  de  Oenlis,  "  Adele  et  TWodore,"  II.  326. 

»  "Tableau  de  Paris,"  III.  44. 

•  M6tra,  "Correspondance  secrete,"  XVII.  387  (March  7,  1785). 

«  De  Goncourt,  ibid.  456.    Vicomtesse  de  Noailles,  "Viede  la  Princesse  de  Jfofat,"  forrwriy 


192  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  iv. 

honor  of  administering  to  you,"  appearances  are  kept  up.  The 
troublesome  individual  is  admitted  and  he  is  politely  received. 
If  they  slip  away  from  him  it  is  under  a  decent  pretext ;  but  if 
he  is  humored  it  is  only  out  of  a  sense  of  decorum ;  "  At  Sura 
when  a  man  dies,  he  holds  a  cow's  tail  in  his  hand."  Society 
was  never  more  detached  from  Christianity.  In  its  eyes  a  pos- 
itive religion  is  only  a  popular  superstition,  good  enough  for 
children  and  innocents  but  not  for  "sensible  people"  and  the 
great.  It  is  your  duty  to  raise  your  hat  to  the  Host  as  it  passes 
but  your  duty  is  only  to  raise  your  hat 

The  last  and  gravest  sign  of  all !  If  the  curates  who  work  and 
who  are  of  the  people  hold  the  people's  ideas,  the  prelates  who 
,  and  who  are  of  society  hold  the  opinions  of  society.  And 
I  do  not  allude  merely  to  the  abbe's  of  the  drawing-room,  the 
domestic  courtiers,  bearers  of  news,  and  writers  of  light  verse, 
those  who  fawn  in  boudoirs,  and  who,  when  in  company,  answer 
like  an  echo  and  who,  between  one  drawing-room  and  another, 
serve  as  speaking-tubes ;  an  echo,  a  speaking-tube  only  repeats 
the  phrase,  whether  sceptical  or  not,  with  which  it  is  charged.  I 
refer  to  the  dignitaries,  and,  on  this  point,  the  witnesses  all  concur. 
In  the  month  of  August,  1767,  the  Abbe"  Bassinet,  grand  vicar  of 
Cahors,  on  pronouncing  the  panegyric  of  St.  Louis  in  the  Louvre 
chapel,1  "suppressed  the  sign  of  the  cross,  making  no  quotation 
from  Scripture  and  never  uttering  a  word  about  Christ  and  the 
Saints.  He  considered  Louis  IX.  merely  on  the  side  of  his  po- 
litical! moral  and  military  virtues.  He  animadverted  on  the  Cru- 
sades, setting  forth  their  absurdity,  cruelty  and  even  injustice. 
He  struck  openly  and  without  caution  at  the  see  of  Rome." 
Others  "  avoid  the  name  of  Christ  in  the  pulpit  and  merely  allude 
to  him  as  a  Christian  legislator."  8  In  the  code  which  the  pre- 
vailing opinions  and  social  decency  imposes  on  the  clergy  a  deli- 
cate observer  3  thus  specifies  distinctions  in  rank  with  their  proper 
shades  of  behavior:  "A  plain  priest,  a  curate,  must  have  a  little 
faith,  otherwise  he  would  be  found  a  hypocrite ;  at  the  same  time, 

1  The  Abb6  de  Latteignaut,  canon  of  Rheims,  the  author  of  some  light  poetry  and  con- 
vivial songs,  "has  just  composed  for  Nicolet's  theatre  a  parade  in  which  the  intrigue  is  sup. 
ported  by  a  good  many  broad  jests,  very  much  in  the  fashion  at  this  time.  The  courtiers  wfa> 
give  the  tone  to  this  theatre  think  the  canon  of  Rheims  superb."  (Bachaumont,  IV.  174, 
November,  1768). 

*  Bachaumont,  III.  953.    Chateaubriand,  "Memoires,"  I.  946. 

•  Champfort,  379. 


CHAI*.  n.      THE  PROPAGATION  OF  THE  DOCTRINE.  293 

he  must  not  be  too  well  satisfied,  for  he  would  be  found  intoler- 
ant. On  the  contrary,  the  grand  vicar  may  smile  at  an  expres-  \ 
sion  against  religion,  the  bishop  may  laugh  outright,  and  the  carv 
dinal  may  add  something  of  his  own  to  it."  "A  little  while  ago," 
a  chronicle  narrates,  "some  one  put  this  question  to  one  of  the 
most  respectable  curates  in  Paris :  Do  you  think  that  the  bishops 
who  insist  so  strenuously  on  religion  have  much  of  it  themselves  ? 
The  worthy  pastor  replied,  after  a  moment's  hesitation :  There 
may  be  four  or  five  among  them  who  still  believe."  To  one  who 
is  familiar  with  their  birth,  their  social  relations,  their  habits  and 
their  tastes,  this  does  not  appear  at  all  improbable.  "  Dom  Col- 
lignon,  a  representative  of  the  abbey  of  Mettach,  seignior  high- 
justiciary  and  curate  of  Valmunster,"  a  fine-looking  man,  fine 
talker,  and  an  agreeable  housekeeper,  avoids  scandal  by  having 
his  two  mistresses  at  his  table  only  with  a  select  few;  he  is  in 
other  respects  as  little  devout  as  possible,  and  much  less  so  than 
the  Savoyard  vicar,  "finding  evil  only  in  injustice  and  in  a  lack 
of  charity,"  and  considering  religion  merely  as  a  political  institu- 
tion and  for  moral  ends.  I  might  cite  many  others,  like  M.  de 
Grimaldi,  the  young  and  gallant  bishop  of  Le  Mans,  who  selects 
young  and  gallant  comrades  of  his  own  station  for  his  grand 
vicars,  and  who  has  a  rendezvous  for  pretty  women  at  his  country 
seat  at  Coulans.1  Judge  of  their  faith  by  their  habits.  In  other 
cases  we  have  no  difficulty  in  determining.  Scepticism  is  noto- 
rious with  the  Cardinal  de  Rohan,  with  M.  de  Brienne,  arch- 
bishop of  Sens,  with  M.  de  Talleyrand,  bishop  of  Autun,  and 
with  the  Abb6  Maury,  defender  of  the  clergy.  Rivarol,2  himselt 
a  sceptic,  declares  that  at  the  approach  of  the  Revolution,  "  the 
enlightenment  of  the  clergy  equalled  that  of  the  philosophers." 
"The  body  with  the  fewest  prejudices,"  says  Mercier,3  "who** 
would  believe  it,  is  the  clergy."  And  the  Archbishop  of  Nar- 
bonne,  explaining  the  resistance  of  the  upper  class  of  the  clergy^ 
in  1791,*  attributes  it,  not  to  faith  but  to  a  point  of  honon)  "We 
conducted  ourselves  at  that  time  like  true  gentlemen,  for,  with 

1  Merlin  de  Thionville,  "Vie  et  correspondance,"  by  Jean  Raynaud.     ("La  Chartreuse  du 

Val  Saint- Pierre."     Read  the  entire  passage).     "Souvenirs  Manuscrits,"  by  M . 

3  Rivarol,  "M£moires,"  I.  344. 

*  Mercier,  IV.  142.     "In  Auvergne,  says  M.  de  Montlosier,  I  formed  for  myself  a  societ> 
of  priests,  men  of  wit,  some  of  whom  were  deists  and  others  open  atheists,  with  whom  I 
tarried  on  a  contest  with  my  brother."     ("M6moires,"  I.  37). 

*  Lafayette,  "  M6moires,"  III.  58. 

25* 


294  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  iv 

most  of  us,  it  could  not  be  said  that  it  was  through  religious  feel- 
ing." 

V. 

/*  The  distance  between  the  altar  and  the  throne  is  a  short  one, 
(—and  yet  it  requires  thirty  years  for  opinion  to  overcome  it.  No 
political  or  social  attacks  are  yet  made  during  the  first  half  of 
the  century.  The  irony  of  the  "  Lettres  Peisanes  "  is  as  cautious 
as  it  is  delicate,  and  the  "  Esprit  des  Lois  "  is  conservative.  As 
to  the  Abbe"  de  Saint-Pierre  his  reveries  provoke  a  smile,  and 
when  he  undertakes  to  censure  Louis  XIV.  the  Academy  strikes 
him  off  its  list.  At  last,  the  economists  on  one  side  and  the 
parliamentarians  on  the  other,  give  the  signal.  Voltaire  says1 
that  "about  1750  the  nation  satiated  with  verse,  tragedies,  come- 
dies, novels,  operas,  romantic  histories,  and  still  more  romantic 
moralizings,  and  with  disputes  about  grace  and  convulsions,  began 
to  discuss  the  question  of  corn."  What  makes  bread  dear? 
Why  is  the  laborer  so  miserable  ?  What  constitutes  the  material 
and  limits  of  taxation  ?  Ought  not  all  land  to  pay  taxes  and 
should  one  piece  pay  more  than  its  net  product?  These  are 
the  questions  that  find  their  way  into  drawing-rooms  under  the 
king's  auspices,  by  means  of  Quesnay,  his  physician,  "his  thinker," 
the  founder  of  a  system  which  aggrandizes  the  sovereign  to 
relieve  the  people  and  which  multiplies  the  number  of  tax-payers 
to  lighten  the  burden  of  taxation.  At  the  same  time,  through 
the  opposite  door,  other  questions  enter,  not  less  novel.  "  Is 
France8  a  mild  and  representative  monarchy  or  a  government 
of  the  Turkish  stamp  ?  Are  we  subject  to  the  will  of  an  absolute 
master,  or  are  we  governed  by  a  limited  and  regulated  power? 
.  .  .  The  exiled  parliaments  are  studying  public  rights  at  their 
sources  and  conferring  together  on  these  as  in  the  academies. 
Through  their  researches,  the  opinion  is  gaining  ground  in  the 
public  mind  that  the  nation  is  above  the  king  as  the  universal 
church  is  above  the  pope."  The  change  is  striking  and  almost 
immediate.  "Fifty  years  ago,"  says  d'Argenson,  again,  "the 
public  showed  no  curiosity  concerning  matters  of  the  State.  To- 
day everybody  reads  his  Gazette  de  Paris,  even  in  the  provinces 

1  "Diet  Phil."  article  "  Corn."  The  most  important  work  of  Quesnay  is  of  the  year  1758. 
"Tableau  6conomique." 

*  D'Argenson,  "M6moires,"  IV.  141 ;  VI.  320,  465;  VII.  23 ;  VIII.  153  (1752, 1753,  1754). 
Rousseau's  discourse  on  Inequality  belongs  also  to  1753.  On  this  steady  march  of  opinlo* 
consult  the  excellent  work  of  d'Aubertin,  "L'Esprit  public  au  dix-huitieme  siecle." 


CHAP.  II.      THE  PROPAGATION  OF  THE  DOCTRINE.  295 

People  reason  at  random  on  political  subjects,  but  nevertheless 
they  occupy  themselves  with  them."  Conversation  having  once 
provided  itself  with  this  aliment  holds  fast  to  it,  the  drawing-rooms, 
accordingly,  opening  their  doors  to  political  philosophy  and, 
consequently,  to  the  Social  Contract,  to  the  Encyclopedia,  to  the 
preachings  of  Rousseau,  Mably,  d'Holbach,  Raynal,  and  Diderot. 
In  1759,  d'Argenson,  who  becomes  excited,  already  thinks  the 
last  hour  has  come.  "We  feel  the  breath  of  a  philosophical 
anti-monarchical,  free  government  wind ;  the  idea  is  current  and 
possibly  this  form  of  government,  already  in  some  minds,  is  to  be 
carried  out  the  first  favorable  opportunity.  Perhaps  the  revolution 
might  take  place  with  less  opposition  than  one  supposes,  occur 
ring  by  acclamation" l 

The  time  is  not  yet  come,  but  the  seed  is  coming  up.  Bachau- 
mont,  in  1762,  notices  a  deluge  of  pamphlets,  tracts  and  political 
discussions,  "a  rage  for  arguing  on  financial  and  government 
matters."  In  1765,  Walpoie  states  that  the  atheists,  who  then 
monopolize  conversation,  inveigh  against  kings  as  well  as 
against  priests.  A  formidable  word,  that  of  citizen,  imported  by 
Rousseau,  has  entered  into  common  speech,  and  the  matter  is 
settled  on  the  women  adopting  it  as  they  would  a  cockade.  "As 
a  friend  and  a  citoyenne  could  any  news  be  raore  agreeable  to  me 
than  that  of  peace  and  the  health  of  my  dear  little  one?"2 
Another  word,  not  less  significant,  that  of  energy,  formerly  ridic- 
ulous, becomes  fashionable  and  is  used  on  every  occasion.' 
Along  with  language  there  is  a  change  of  sentiment,  ladies  of 
high  rank  passing  over  to  the  opposition.  In  1 7  7 1 ,  says  the  scoffer 
Bezenval,  after  the  exile  of  the  Parliament  "  social  meetings 
for  pleasure  or  other  purposes  had  become  petty  States-Generals 
in  wnich  the  women,  transformed  into  legislators,  established  the 
premises  and  confidently  propounded  maxims  of  public  right." 
The  Comtesse  d'Egmont,  a  correspondent  of  the  King  of  Sweden, 
sends  him  a  memorial  on  the  fundamental  law  of  France,  favor- 
ing the  Parliament,  the  last  defender  of  national  liberty,  against 
the  encroachments  of  Chancellor  Maupeou.  "  The  Chancellor," 
she  says,4  "within  the  last  six  months  has  brought  people  to 

1  This  seems  lo  be  prophetic  of  the  night  of  August  4,  1789. 

*  "  Corresp.  de  Laurette  de  Malboissiere,"  published  by  the  Marquise  de  la  Grange.     (Sept 
4,  1762,  November  8,  1762). 

»  Madame  du  Deffant  in  a  letter  to  Madame  de  Choiseul,  (quoted  by  Geffroy),  "GlUtavf 
et  la  cour  de  France,"  I.  279. 

*  Geffroy,  ibid.  I.  933,  341,  045. 


296  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  iv. 

know  the  history  of  France  who  would  have  died  without  any 
knowledge  of  it.  .  .  I  have  no  doubt,  sire,"  she  adds,  "  that 
you  never  will  abuse  the  power  an  enraptured  people  have  en- 
crusted to  you  without  limitation.  .  .  .  May  your  reign  prove 
the  epoch  of  the  re-establishment  of  a  free  and  independent  gov- 
ernment but  never  the  source  of  absolute  authority."  Numbers 
of  women  of  the  first  rank,  Mesdames  de  la  Marck,  de  Boufflers, 
de  Brienne,  de  Mesmes,  de  Luxembourg,  de  Croy,  think  and 
write  in  the  same  style.  "Absolute  power,"  says  one  of  these, 
"is  a  mortal  malady  which,  insensibly  corrupting  moral  qualities 
ends  in  the  destruction  of  states.  .  .  .  The  actions  of  sovereigns 
are  subject  to  the  censure  of  their  subjects  as  to  that  of  the 
universe.  .  .  .  France  is  undone  if  the  present  administration 
lasts." 1  When,  under  Louis  XVI.,  a  new  administration  proposes 
and  withdraws  feeble  measures  of  reform  their  criticism  shows 
the  same  firmness :  "  Childishness,  weakness,  constant  inconsist- 
ency," writes  another,2  "incessant  change  and  always  worse  off 
than  we  were  before.  Monsieur  and  M.  le  Comte  d'Artois, 
have  just  made  a  journey  through  the  provinces  but  only  as 
people  of  that  kind  travel,  with  a  frightful  expenditure  and 
devastation  along  the  whole  road,  coming  back  extraordinarily 
fat;  Monsieur  is  as  big  as  a  hogshead;  as  to  M.  le  Comte 
d'Artois  he  is  bringing  about  order  by  the  life  he  leads." — An 
inspiration  of  humanity  animates  these  feminine  breasts  along 
with  that  of  liberty.  They  interest  themselves  in  the  poor,  in 
children,  in  the  people ;  Madame  d'Egmont  recommends  Gus- 
tavus  III.  to  plant  Dalecarlia  with  potatoes.  On  the  appearance 
of  the  engraving  published  for  the  benefit  of  Galas3  "all  France 
and  even  all  Europe,  hastens  to  subscribe  for  it,  the  Empress  of 
Russia  giving  5,000  livres.4"  "Agriculture,  economy,  reform, 
philosophy,"  writes  Walpole,  "are  ban  ton,  even  at  the  court." 
President  Dupaty  having  drawn  up  a  memorial  in  behalf  of 
three  innocent  persons  sentenced  "to  be  broken  on  the  wheel 
everybody  in  society  is  talking  about  it; "  "idle  conversation  no 
longer  prevails  in  society,"  says  a  correspondent  of  Gus- 
tavus  III.6  "  since  it  is  that  which  forms  public  opinion.  Wordi 

1  Geffrey,  ibid.  I.  267,  281.     See  letters  by  Madame  de  Boufflers  (October,  1779  July  1774). 

*  Ibid.  I.  285.     The  letters  of  Mrae.  de  la  March  (1776,  1777,  1779). 

*  A  victim  of  religious  rancor  against  the  protestants,  whose  cause,  taken  u;  by  Voltain 
excited  great  indignation.— TR. 

«  Bachaumont,  III.  14  (March  28,  1766.     Walpole,  Oct  6,  1775). 

*  Gefiroy,  ibid.  (A  letter  by  Mme.  de  Stael,  1776). 


CHAP.  II.     THE  PROPAGATION  OF  THE  DOCTRINE.  Vft 

have  become  actions.  Every  sensitive  heart  praises  with  transpoit 
a  memorial  inspired  by  humanity  and  which  appears  full  of  talent 
because  it  is  full  of  feeling."  When  Latude  is  released  from  the 
prison  of  Bic£tre  Mme.  de  Luxembourg,  Mme.  de  Boufflers,  and 
Mme.  de  Stael  dine  with  the  grocer- woman  who  "  for  three  years 
and  a  half  moved  heaven  and  earth"  to  set  the  prisoner  free. 
It  is  owing  to  the  women,  to  their  sensibility  and  zeal,  to  a 
conspiracy  of  their  sympathies,  that  M.  de  Lally  succeeds  in  the 
rehabilitation  of  his  father.  When  they  take  a  fancy  to  a  person 
they  become  infatuated  with  him;  Madame  de  Lauzun,  very 
timid,  goes  so  far  as  to  publicly  insult  a  man  who  speaks  ill  of 
M.  Necker. — It  must  be  borne  in  mind  that,  in  this  century,  the 
women  were  queens,  setting  the  fashion,  giving  the  tone,  leading 
in  conversation  and  naturally  shaping  ideas  and  opinions.1  When 
they  take  the  lead  on  the  political  field  we  may  be  sure  that  the 
men  will  follow  them :  each  one  carries  her  drawing-room  circle 
with  her. 

VI. 

An  aristocracy  imbued  with  humanitarian  and  radical  maxims, 
courtiers  hostile  to  the  court,  privileged  persons  aiding  in  under- 
mining privileges,  presents  to  us  a  strange  spectacle  in  the  testi- 
mony of  the  time.  A  contemporary  states  that  it  is  an  accepted 
principle  "  to  change  and  upset  everything."  2  High  and  low,  in 
assemblages,  in  public  places,  only  reformers  and  opposing  parties 
are  encountered  among  the  privileged  classes.  "  In  1787,  almost 
every  prominent  man  of  the  peerage  in  the  Parliament  declared 
himself  in  favor  of  resistance.  ...  I  have  seen  at  the  dinners  we 
then  attended  almost  every  idea  put  forward,  which,  soon  after- 
wards, produced  such  startling  effects."3  Already  in  1774,  M.  de 
Vaublanc,  on  his  way  to  Metz,  finds  a  diligence  containing  an 
ecclesiastic  and  a  count,  a  colonel  in  the  hussars,  talking  political 
economy  constantly.4  "  It  was  the  fashion  of  the  day.  Every- 
body was  an  economist.  People  conversed  together  only  about 
philosophy,  political  economy  and  especially  humanity,  and  the 

1  Coll6,  "Journal,"  III.  437  (1770) :  "Women  have  got  the  upper  hand  with  the  French 
to  such  an  extent,  they  have  so  subjugated  them,  that  they  neither  feel  nor  think  except  M 
they  do." 

*  "Correspondance,"  by  Me'tra,  III.  200;  IV.  131. 
1  "Souvenirs  Manuscrits,"  by  M . 

*  De  Vaublanc,  "Souvenirs,"  I.  117,  ^77. 


198  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  rv 

means  for  relieving  the  good  people,  which  two  words  were  in 
everybody's  mouth."  To  this  must  be  added  equality ;  Thomas, 
in  a  eulogy  of  Marshal  Saxe  says,  "  I  cannot  conceal  it,  he  was 
of  royal  blood,"  and  this  phrase  was  admired.  A  few  of  the 
heads  of  old  parliamentary  or  seigniorial  families  maintain  the  old 
patrician  and  monarchical  standard,  the  new  generation  succumb- 
ing to  novelty.  "  For  ourselves,"  says  one  of  them  belonging  to 
the  youthful  class  of  the  nobility,1  "  with  no  regret  for  the  past  01 
anxiety  for  the  future,  we  jaarched  gayly  along  over  a  carpet  of 
flowers  concealing  an  abyss.  Mocking  censors  of  antiquated 
ways,  of  the  feudal  pride  of  our  fathers  and  of  their  sober  eti- 
quette, everything  antique  seemed  to  us  annoying  and  ridiculous. 
The  gravity  of  old  doctrines  oppressed  us.  The  cheerful  phi- 
losophy of  Voltaire  amused  and  took  possession  of  us.  Without 
fathoming  that  of  graver  writers  we  admired  it  for  its  stamp  <*r 
fearlessness  and  resistance  to  arbitrary  power.  .  .  .  Liberty,  what- 
ever its  language,  delighted  us  with  its  spirit,  and  equality  on  ac- 
count of  its  convenience.  It  is  a  pleasant  thing  to  descend  so 
long  as  one  thinks  one  can  ascend  when  one  pleases ;  we  were  at 
once  enjoying,  without  forethought,  the  advantages  of  the  patri- 
ciate and  the  sweets  of  a  plebeian  philosophy.  Thus,  although 
our  privileges  were  at  stake,  and  the  remnants  of  our  former  su- 
premacy were  undermined  under  our  feet,  this  little  warfare  grat- 
ified us.  Inexperienced  in  the  attack,  we  simply  admired  the 
spectacle.  Combats  with  the  pen  and  with  words  did  not  appear 
to  us  capable  of  damaging  our  existing  superiority,  which  several 
centuries  of  possession  had  made  us  regard  as  impregnable.  The 
forms  of  the  edifice  remaining  intact,  we  could  not  see  how  it 
could  be  mined  from  within.  We  laughed  at  the  serious  alarm 
of  the  old  court  and  of  the  clergy  which  thundered  against  the 
spirit  of  innovation.  We  applauded  republican  scenes  in  the 
theatre,2  philosophic  discourses  in  our  Academies,  the  bold 
publications  of  the  literary  class."  If  inequality  still  subsists  in 
the  distribution  of  offices  and  of  places,  "  equality  begins  to  reign 
in  society.  On  many  occasions  literary  titles  obtain  precedence 

1  De  Segur,  "  Memoires,"  I.  17. 

1  Ibid.  1.151.     "I  saw  the  entire  court  at  the  theatre  In  the  chateau  at  Versailles  enthusl 
.ideal!  y  applaud  Voltaire's  tragedy  of  'Brutus,'  and  especially  these  lines: 
Je  suis  fils  de  Brutus,  et  je  porte  en  mon  coeur 
La  libert^  gravee  et  les  rois  en  horreur." 


CHAP.  ii.      THE  PROPAGATION  OF  THE  DOCTRINE.  299 

over  titles  of  nobility.  Courtiers  and  servants  of  the  State  in 
fashion,  paid  their  court  to  Marmontel,  d'Aleinbert  and  Raynal. 
We  frequently  saw  in  company  literary  men  of  the  second  and 
third  rank  greeted  and  receiving  attentions  not  extended  to  the 
nobles  of  the  provinces.  .  .  .  Institutions  remained  monarchical, 
but  manners  and  customs  became  republican.  A  word  of  praise 
from  d'Alembert  or  Diderot  was  more  esteemed  than  the  most 
marked  favor  from  a  prince.  It  was  impossible  to  pass  an  even- 
ing  with  d'Alembert,  or  at  the  H6tel  de  Larochefoucauld  among 
the  friends  of  Turgot,  to  attend  a  breakfast  at  the  Abbe"  Raynal's, 
to  be  admitted  into  the  society  and  family  of  M.  de  Malesherbes, 
in  fine,  to  approach  a  most  amiable  queen  and  a  most  upright 
king  without  believing  ourselves  about  to  enter  upon  a  kind  of 
golden  era  of  which  preceding  centuries  afforded  no  idea.  .  .  . 
We  were  bewildered  by  the  prismatic  hues  of  fresh  ideas  and 
doctrines,  radiant  with  hopes,  ardently  aglow  for  every  sort  of 
reputation,  enthusiastic  for  all  talents  and  beguiled  by  every  se- 
ductive dream  of  a  philosophy  that  was  about  to  secure  the  hap- 
piness of  the  human  species.  Far  from  foreseeing  misfortune, 
excess,  crime,  the  overthrow  of  thrones  and  of  principles,  the  fu- 
ture disclosed  to  us  only  the  benefits  which  humanity  was  to  de- 
rive from  the  sovereignty  of  reason.  Free  circulation  was  left  to 
every  reformatory  writing,  to  every  project  of  innovation,  to  the 
most  liberal  ideas  and  to  the  boldest  of  systems.  Everybody 
thought  himself  on  the  road  to  perfection  without  being  under 
any  embarassment  or  fearing  any  kind  of  obstacle.  We  were  proud 
of  being  Frenchmen  and,  yet  again,  Frenchmen  of  the  eighteenth 
century.  .  .  .  Never  was  a  more  terrible  awakening  preceded  by 
a  sweeter  slumber  or  by  more  seductive  dreams." 

They  do  not  content  themselves  with  dreams,  with  pure  de- 
sires, with  passive  aspirations.  They  are  active,  and  truly  gener- 
ous ;  a  worthy  cause  suffices  to  secure  their  devotedness.  On  the 
news  of  the  American  rebellion,  the  Marquis  de  Lafayette,  leav- 
ing his  young  wife  pregnant,  escapes-,  braves  the  orders  of  the 
court,  purchases  a  frigate,  crosses  the  ocean  and  fights  by  the  side 
Df  Washington.  "The  moment  the  quarrel  was  made  known  to 
me,"  he  says,  "  my  heart  was  enlisted  in  it,  and  my  only  thought 
was  to  rejoin  my  regiment."  Numbers  of  gentlemen  follow  in 
his  footsteps.  They  undoubtedly  love  danger;  "the  chance  of 


500  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  rv. 

being  shot  is  too  precious  to  be  neglected."  *  But  the  next  thing 
is  to  emancipate  the  oppressed ;  "  we  showed  ourselves  philoso- 
phers by  becoming  paladins,"2  the  chivalric  sentiment  enlisting  in 
the  service  of  liberty.  Other  services  besides  these,  more  seden- 
tary and  less  brilliant,  find  no  fewer  zealots.  The  chief  per- 
sonages of  the  provinces  in  the  provincial  assemblies,3  the  bish- 
ops, archbishops,  abb6s,  dukes,  counts,  and  marquises,  with  the 
wealthiest  and  best  informed  of  the  notables  in  the  Third-Estate, 
in  all  about  a  thousand  persons,  in  short  the  social  elect,  the  en- 
tire upper  class  convoked  by  the  king,  organize  the  budget,  de- 
fend the  tax-payer  against  the  fisc,  arrange  the  land-registry, 
equalize  the  taille,  provide  a  substitute  for  the  corvte,  provide  pub- 
lic roads,  multiply  charitable  asylums,  educate  agriculturists,  pro- 
posing, encouraging  and  directing  every  species  of  reformatory 
movement.  I  have  read  through  the  twenty  volumes  of  their 
firoch-verbaux :  no  better  citizens,  no  more  conscientious  men, 
no  more  devoted  administrators  can  be  found,  none  gratuitously 
taking  so  much  trouble  on  themselves  with  no  object  but  the 
public  welfare.  Never  was  an  aristocracy  so  deserving  of  power 
at  the  moment  of  losing  it;  the  privileged  class,  aroused  from 
their  indolence,  were  again  becoming  public  men,  and,  restored 
to  their  functions,  were  returning  to  their  duties.  In  1778,  in  the 
first  assembly  of  Berry,  the  Abb6  de  Seguiran,  the  reporter,  has 
the  courage  to  state  that  "  the  distribution  of  the  taxes  should  be 
a  fraternal  partition  of  public  obligations."4  In  1780  the  abbe's, 
priors  and  chapters  of  the  same  province  contribute  60,000  livres 
of  their  funds,  and  a  few  gentlemen,  in  less  than  twenty-four 
hours,  contribute  17,000  livres.  In  1787,  in  the  assembly  of 
Alen9on  the  nobility  and  the  clergy  assess  themselves  30,000 
livres  to  relieve  the  indigent  in  each  parish  subject  to  taxation.5 
In  the  month  of  April,  1787,  the  king,  in  an  assembly  of  the  not- 
ables, speaks  of  "the  eagerness  with  which  archbishops  and  bishops 

1  De  Lauzun,  80  (in  relation  to  his  expedition  into  Corsica). 
»  De  Se"gur,  I.  87. 

*  The  assemblies  of  Berry,  Haute-Guyenne,  open  in  1779;  those  of  other  generalships  in 
1787;  all  are  in  session  until  1789.     (Cf.  L£once  de  Lavergne,  "Les  Assemblies  provin. 
dales"). 

4  Leonce  de  Lavergne,  ibid.  26,  55,  183.     The  tax  department  of  the  provincial  assembly 
of  Tours  likewise  makes  its  demands  on  the  privileged  class  in  the  matter  of  taxation. 

•  Procls-verbaux  of  the  prov.  ass.  of  Normandy,  the  generalship  of  Alencon,  252.     Cf 
Archives  Rationales,  H,  1149:  in  1778  in  the  generalship  of  Moulins,  thirty-nine  persons, 
mostly  nobles,  supply  from  their  own  funds  18,950  livres  to  the  60,000  livres  allowed  by  th> 
king  for  roads  and  asylums. 


CHAP.  u.      THE  PROPAGATION  OF  THE  DOCTRINE.  301 

come  forward  claiming  no  exemption  in  their  contributions  to  the 
public  revenue."  In  the  month  of  March,  1789,  on  the  opening 
of  the  bailiwick  assemblies,  the  entire  clergy,  nearly  all  the  nobility, 
in  short,  the  whole  body  of  the  privileged  class  voluntarily  xe- 
nounce  their  privileges  in  relation  to  taxation.  The  sacrifice  is 
voted  unanimously ;  they  themselves  offer  it  to  the  Third- Estate, 
and  it  is  worth  while  to  see  their  generous  and  sympathetic  tone  in 
the  manuscript  proces-verbaux.  "  The  nobility  of  the  bailiwick  of 
Tours,"  says  the  Marquis  de  Lusignan,1  "  considering  that  they 
are  men  and  citizens  before  being  nobles,  can  make  amends 
in  no  way  more  in  conformity  with  the  spirit  of  justice  and  pat- 
riotism that  animates  the  body,  for  the  long  silence  to  which  it 
has  been  condemned  by  the  abuse  of  ministerial  power,  than  in 
declaring  to  their  fellow-citizens  that  in  future  they  will  claim 
none  of  the  pecuniary  advantages  secured  to  them  by  custom,  and 
that  they  unanimously  and  solemnly  bind  themselves  to  bear 
equally,  each  in  proportion  to  his  fortune,  all  taxes  and  gen- 
eral contributions  which  the  nation  shall  prescribe."  "  I  repeat," 
says  the  Comte  de  Buzangois  at  the  meeting  of  the  Third-Es- 
tate of  Berry,  "  that  we  are  all  brothers,  and  that  we  are  anxious 
to  share  your  burdens.  .  .  .  We  desire  to  have  but  one  single 
voice  go  up  to  the  assembly  and  thus  manifest  the  union  and 
harmony  which  should  prevail  there.  I  am  directed  to  make  the 
proposal  to  you  to  unite  with  you  in  one  memorial."  "These 
qualities  are  essential  in  a  deputy,"  says  the  Marquis  de  Barban- 
9on  speaking  for  the  nobles  of  Chateauroux,  "integrity,  firmness 
and  knowledge ;  the  first  two  are  equally  found  among  the  dep- 
uties of  the  three  orders ;  but  knowledge  will  be  more  generally 
found  in  the  Third-Estate,  which  is  more  accustomed  to  public 
affairs."  "A  new  order  of  things  is  unfolding  before  us,"  says 
the  Abbe*  Legrand  in  the  name  of  the  clergy  of  Chateauroux; 
"the  veil  of  prejudice  is  being  torn  away  and  giving  place  to  rea- 
son. She  is  possessing  herself  of  all  French  hearts,  attacking  at 
the  root  whatever  is  based  on  former  opinion  and  deriving  her 
power  only  from  herself."  Not  only  do  the  privileged  classes 

1  Archives  nationales,  frocts-vfrbaux  and  memorials  of  the  States-General,  vol.  XLIX. 
p.  712,  714  (the  nobles  and  clergy  of  Dijon) ;  t.  XVI.  p.  183  (the  nobles  of  Auxerre) ;  t 
XXIX.  pp.  352,  455,  458  (the  clergy  and  nobles  of  Berry) ;  t  CL.  p.  266  (the  clergy  and 
nobles  of  Tours) ;  t.  XXIX.  (the  clergy  and  nobles  of  Chateauroux,  January  29,  1789);  pp. 
$72,  582.  t  XIII.  765  (the  nobles  of  Autun).  See  as  a  summary  of  the  whole,  the  ''  Resum< 
Jes  Cahiers,"  by  Prud'homme,  3  vols. 

26 


joa  THE  AXL IENT  REGIME.  BOOK  IV 

make  advances  but  it  is  no  effort  to  them ;  they  use  the  sanr.e  lan< 
guage  as  the  people  of  the  Third-Estate ;  they  are  disciples  of 
the  same  philosophers  and  seem  to  start  from  the  same  principles. 
The  nobility  of  Clermont  in  Beauvoisis,1  order  its  deputies  "to 
demand,  first  of  all,  an  explicit  declaration  of  the  rights  belong- 
ing to  all  men."  The  nobles  of  Mantes  and  Meulan  affirm  "  that 
political  principles  are  as  absolute  as  moral  principles  since  both 
have  reason  for  a  common  basis."  The  nobles  of  Rheims  demand 
"  that  the  king  be  entreated  to  order  the  demolition  of  the  Bas- 
tille." Frequently,  after  such  expressions  and  with  such  a  yield- 
ing disposition,  the  delegates  of  the  nobles  and  clergy  are  greeted 
in  the  assemblies  of  the  Third-Estate  with  the  clapping  of  hands, 
"tears"  and  transports.  On  witnessing  such  effusions  how  can 
one  avoid  believing  in  concord  ?  And  how  can  one  foresee  strife 
at  the  first  turn  of  the  road  on  which  they  have  just  fraternally 
entered  hand  in  hand  ? 

Wisdom  of  this  melancholy  stamp  is  not  theirs.  They  set  out 
with  the  principle  that  man,  and  especially  the  man  of  the  peo- 
ple, is  good;  why  conjecture  that  he  may  desire  evil  for  those 
who  wish  him  well  ?  They  are  conscientious  in  their  benevolence 
and  sympathy  for  him.  Not  only  do  they  utter  these  sentiments 
but  they  give  them  proof.  "  At  this  moment,"  says  a  contempo- 
rary,2 "the  most  active  pity  animates  all  breasts;  the  great  dread 
of  the  opulent  is  to  appear  insensible."  The  archbishop  of 
Paris,  subsequently  followed  and  stoned,  is  the  donator  of  one 
hundred  thousand  crowns  to  the  hospital  of  the  Hotel-Dieu. 
The  intendant  Berthier,  who  is  to  be  massacred,  draws  up  the 
new  assessment-roll  of  the  Ile-de- France,  equalizing  the  faille, 
and  which  allows  him  to  abate  the  rate,  at  first,  an  eighth,  and 
next,  a  quarter.3  The  financier  Beaujon  constructs  a  hospital. 
Necker  refuses  the  salary  of  his  place  and  lends  the  treasury  two 
millions  to  re-establish  public  credit.  The  Due  de  Charost,  from 
1770*  down,  abolishes  seigniorial  corvees  on  his  domain  and 
founds  a  hospital  in  his  seigniory  of  Meillant.  The  Prince  de 

PradTiomme,  ibid.  II.  39,  51,  59.  De  Lavergne,  384.  In  1788,  two  hundred  gentlemen 
of  the  first  families  of  Dauphiny  sign,  conjointly  with  the  clergy  and  the  Third- Estate  of  the 
province,  an  address  to  the  king  in  which  occurs  the  following  passage:  "Neither  rime  not 
sbligation  legitimizes  despotism ;  the  rights  of  men  derive  from  nature  alone  an  d  are  independ 
ent  of  their  engagements." 

*  Lacretelle,  "Hist  de  France  au  dix-huirieme  siecle,"  V.  a. 

*  Procls-verbaujc  of  the  prov.  ass.  of  tht  Ile-de-France  ,1787),  p.  197. 
4  De  Lavergne,  ibid,  52,  369. 


CHAP.  II,     THE  PROPAGATION  OF  THE  DOCTRINE.  303 

Beaufremont,  the  presidents  de  Vezet,  de  Chamolles,  de  Chaillot, 
with  many  seigniors  beside  in  Franche-Comte",  follow  the  example 
of  the  king  in  emancipating  their  serfs.1  The  bishop  of  Saint- 
Claude  demands,  in  spite  of  his  chapter,  the  enfranchisement  of 
his  mainmorts.  The  Marquis  de  Mirabeau  establishes  on  his 
domain  in  Limousin,  a  gratuitous  bureau  for  the  settlement  of 
awsuits,  while  daily,  at  Fleury,  he  causes  nine  hundred  pounds 
of  cheap  bread  to  be  made  for  the  use  of  "  the  poor  people  who 
fight  to  see  who  shall  have  it."2  M.  de  Barral,  bishop  of  Castres, 
directs  his  curates  to  preach  and  to  diffuse  the  cultivation  of 
potatoes.  The  Marquis  of  Guerchy  himself  mounts  on  the  top  of 
a  pile  of  hay  with  Arthur  Young  to  learn  how  to  construct  a  hay- 
stack. The  Marquis  de  Lasteyrie  imports  lithography  into 
France.  A  number  of  grand  seigniors  and  prelates  figure  in  the 
agricultural  societies,  compose  or  translate  useful  books,  famil- 
iarize themselves  with  the  applications  of  science,  study  political 
economy,  inform  themselves  about  industries,  and  interest  them- 
selves, either  as  amateurs  or  promoters,  in  every  public  ameliora 
tion.  "  Never,"  says  Lacretelle  again,  "  were  the  French  so 
combined  together  to  combat  the  evils  to  which  nature  makes  us 
pay  tribute  and  those  which  in  a  thousand  ways  creep  into  all 
social  institutions."  Can  it  be  admitted  that  so  many  good 
intentions  thus  operating  together  are  to  end  in  destruction? 
All  take  courage,  the  government  as  well  as  the  higher  class, 
in  the  thought  of  the  good  accomplished  or  which  they  desire  tc 
accomplish.  The  king  remembers  that  he  has  restored  civil 
rights  to  the  protestants,  abolished  preliminary  torture,  suppressed 
the  corvee  in  kind,  established  the  free  circulation  of  grains, 
instituted  provincial  assemblies,  built  up  the  marine,  assisted  the 
Americans,  emancipated  his  own  serfs,  diminished  the  expenses 
of  his  household,  employed  Malesherbes,  Turgot  and  Necker, 
given  full  play  to  the  press,  and  listened  to  public  opinion.3  No 
government  displayed  greater  mildness;  on  the  i4th  of  July, 
1789,  only  seven  prisoners  were  confined  in  the  Bastille,  of  which 
one  was  an  idiot,  another  kept  there  by  his  family,  and  four 

1  "Le  cri  de  la  raison,"  by  Clerget,  cure1  d'Onans  (1789),  p.  258. 

*  Lucas  d«  Montigny,  "  M6moires  de  Mirabeau,"  I.  290,  368.      Th6ron  de   Moutauge, 
"  L'agriculture  et  les  classes  rurales  dans  le  pays  Toulousain,"  p.  14. 

*  "  Foreigners  generally  could  scarcely  form  an  idea  of  the  power  of  public  opinion  at  thij 
rime  in  France;  they  can  with  difficulty  comprehend  the  nature  <{  that  invisible  powef 
which  commands  even  in  the  king' s palace."     (Necker,  1784,  qiote-  by  De  Tocqi eville). 


304  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  IV. 

under  the  charge  of  counterfeiting.1  No  sovereign  was  more 
humane,  more  charitable,  more  preoccupied  with  the  unfortunate. 
In  1784,  the  year  of  inundations  and  epidemics,  he  renders  as- 
sistance to  the  amount  of  three  millions.  Appeals  are  made  tc 
him  direct,  even  for  personal  accidents.  On  the  8th  of  June, 
1785,  he  sends  two  hundred  livres  to  the  wife  of  a  Breton  labor- 
ing-man who,  already  having  two  children,  brings  three  at  once 
into  the  world.2  During  a  severe  winter  he  allows  the  poor  daily 
to  invade  his  kitchen.  It  is  quite  probable  that,  next  to  Turgot. 
he  is  the  man  of  his  day  who  loved  the  people  most.  His  dele- 
gates under  him  conform  to  his  views;  I  have  read  countless  letters 
by  intendants  who  try  to  appear  as  little  Turgots.  "  One  builds  a 
hospital,  another  admits  artisans  at  his  table ; "  3  a  certain  individ- 
ual undertakes  the  draining  of  a  marsh.  M.  de  la  Tour,  in  Prov- 
ence, is  so  beneficent  during  a  period  of  forty  years  that  the 
Tiers-Etat  vote  him  a  gold  medal  in  spite  of  himself.4  A  gov- 
ernor delivers  a  course  of  lectures  on  economical  bread-making, 
What  possible  danger  is  there  with  shepherds  of  this  kind  amidst 
their  flocks  ?  On  the  king  convoking  the  States- General  nobody 
had  "any  suspicion,"  nor  fear  of  the  future.  "A  new  State  con- 
stitution is  spoken  of  as  an  easy  performance,  and  as  a  matter  of 
course."5  "The  best  and  most  virtuous  men  see  in  this  the  be- 
ginning of  a  new  era  of  happiness  for  France  and  for  the  whole 
civilized  world.  The  ambitious  rejoice  in  the  broad  field  open 
to  their  desires.  But  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  find  the 
most  morose,  the  most  timid,  the  most  enthusiastic  of  men  antic- 
ipating any  one  of  the  extraordinary  events  towards  which  the 
assembled  states  were  drifting." 

1  Granier  de  Cassagnac,  II.  236.  M.  de  Malesherbes,  according  to  custom,  inspected  the 
different  state  prisons,  at  the  beginning  of  the  reign  of  Louis  XVI.  "He  told  me  himself 
that  he  had  only  released  two."  (Senac  de  Meilhan,  "  Du  gouvernement,  des  mceurs,  et 
des  conditions  en  France.") 

*  Archives  nationales,  II.  1418,  1149,  £  *4>  2073-     Assistance  rendered  to  various  suffering 
provinces  and  places. 

*  Aubertin,  p.  484  (according  to  Bachaumont). 

*  De  Lavergne,  472. 

*  Mathieu  Dumas,  "Me'moires,"  I.  426.    Sir  Samuel  Romilly,  "M&noires,"  I.  99.    "Con- 
fidence increased  even  to  extravagance,"  (Mme.  de  Genlis).    On  the  2gth  June,  1789,  Necker 
laid  at  the  council  of  the  king  at  Marly,    "What  is  more  frivolous  than  the  fears  now 
entertained  concerning  the  organization  of  the  assembly  of  the  States-General  ?    No  law  can 
be  passed  without  obtaining  the  king's  assent."      (De   Barentin,    "M6moires,"  p.   187] 
Address  of  the  National  Assembly  to  its  constituents,  October  2,  1789.     "A  great  revolution 
tf  which  the  idea  would  have  appeared  chimerical  a  few  months  since  has  been  effected 
wnongst  u*." 


CHAPTER  III. 

MIDDLE  CLASS.— I.  The  former  spirit  of  the  Third-Estate. — Public 
matters  concern  the  king  only. — Limits  of  the  Jansenist  and  parliamentarian 
opposition. — II.  Change  in  the  condition  of  the  bourgeois. — He  becomes 
wealthy. — He  makes  loans  to  the  State. — The  danger  of  his  creditorship. — He 
interests  himself  in  public  matters. — III.  He  rises  on  the  social  ladder. — 
The  noble  draws  near  to  him. — He  becomes  cultivated. — He  enters  into  so- 
ciety.— He  regards  himself  as  the  equal  of  the  noble. — Privileges  an  annoy- 
ance.— IV.  Philosophy  in  the  minds  thus  fitted  for  it. — That  of  Rousseau 
prominent. — This  philosophy  in  harmony  with  new  necessities. — It  is  adopted 
by  the  Third-Estate. — V.  Its  effect  therein. — The  formation  of  revolutionary 
passions. — Levelling  instincts. — The  craving  for  dominion. — The  Third-Es- 
tate decides  and  it  constitutes  the  nation. — Chimeras,  ignorance,  exaltation  - 
VI.  Summary. 

I. 

THE  new  philosophy,  confined  to  a  select  circle,  had 
served  as  a  mere  luxury  for  refined  society.  Merchants,  manu- 
facturers, shopkeepers,  lawyers,  attorneys,  physicians,  actors,  \ 
professors,  curates,  every  description  of  functionary,  employe" 
and  clerk,  the  entire  middle  class,  had  been  absorbed  with  its 
own  cares.  The  horizon  of  each  was  limited,  being  that  of  the 
protession  or  occupation  which  each  exercised,  that  of  the  cor- 
poration in  which  each  one  was  comprised,  of  the  town  in  which 
each  one  was  born,  and,  at  the  utmost,  that  of  the  province 
which  each  one  inhabited.1  A  dearth  of  ideas  coupled  with  ) 
conscious  diffidence  restrained  the  bourgeois  within  his  hereditary 
barriers.  His  eyes  seldom  chanced  to  wander  outside  of  them 
into  the  forbidden  and  dangerous  territory  of  state  affairs ;  hardly 
was  a  furtive  and  rare  glance  bestowed  on  any  of  the  public  acts, 
on  the  matters  which  "belonged  to  the  king."  There  was  no 

*  I  have  verified  these  sentiments  myself  in  the  narration  of  aged  people  deceased  twenty 
years  ago.     Cf.  manuscript  memoirs  of  Hardy  the  bookseller  (analyzed  by  Aubertin),  ai  i 
the  "Travels  of  Arthur  Young  ' 
36* 


306  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  iv. 

critical  irritability  then,  except  with  the  bar,  the  compulsory  sat- 
ellite of  the  Parliament  and  borne  along  in  its  orbit.  In  1718, 
after  a  session  of  the  royal  court  (lit  de  justice),  the  lawyers 
of  Paris  being  on  a  strike  the  Regent  exclaims  angrily  and  with 
astonishment,  "What !  those  fellows  meddling  too ! "  *  It  must 
be  stated  furthermore  that  many  kept  themselves  in  the  back- 
ground. "  My  father  and  myself,"  afterwards  writes  the  advocate 
Barbier,  "took  no  part  in  the  uproars,  among  those  caustic  and 
turbulent  spirits."  And  he  adds  this  significant  article  of  faith : 
"I  believe  that  one  has  to  fulfil  his  duties  honorably,  without 
concerning  oneself  with  state  affairs  in  which  one  has  no  mission 
and  eocercises  no  power."  During  the  first  half  of  the  eighteenth 
century  I  am  able  to  discover  buj^iie_£ejiti^_ofjQpposkion  in  the 
\  Third- Estate,  the_  Parliament, -and ^around  it,  feeding  the  flame, 
the  ancient  gallican  or  Jansenist  splrik~"Thlf  good  city  of 
<jJaris,"  writes  Barbier  in  1733,  "is  Jansenist  from  top  to  bottom," 
and  not  alone  the  magistrates,  the  lawyers,  the  professors,  the 
best  among  the  bourgeoisie,  "but  again  the  mass  of  the  Parisians, 
men,  women  and  children,  all  upholding  that  doctrine,  without 
comprehending  it,  or  understanding  any  of  its  distinctions  and 
^interpretations,  out  of  hatred  to  Rome  and  the  Jesuits.  Women, 
the  silliest,  and  even  chambermaids,  would  be  hacked  to  pieces 
for  it.  .  .  ."  This  party  is  increased  by  the  honest  folks  of  the 
kingdom  detesting  persecutions  and  injustice.  Accordingly, 
when  the  various  chambers  of  magistrates,  in  conjunction  with 
the  lawyers,  tender  their  resignations  and  file  out  of  the  palace 
"amidst  a  countless  multitude,  the  crowd  exclaims:  Behold  the 
true  Romans,  the  fatJiers  of  the  country  !  and  as  the  two  counsel- 
lors Pucelle  and  Menguy  pass  along  they  fling  them'  crowns." 
The  quarrel  between  the  Parliament  and  the  Court,  constantly 
revived,  is  one  of  the  sparks  which  provokes  the  grand  final 
explosion,  while  the  Jansenist  embers,  smouldering  in  the  ashes, 
are  to  be  of  use  in  1791  when  the  ecclesiastical  edifice  comes  to 
be  attacked.  Bat  within  this  old  chimney-corner  only  warm 
embers  are  now  found,  firebrands  covered  up,  sometimes  scatter- 
ing sparks  and  flames,  but  in  themselves  and  by  themselves,  not 
incendiary  ;  the  flame  is  kept  within  bounds  by  its  structure, 
and  its  supplies  limit  its  heat.  The  Jansenist  is  too  good  a 
Christian  not  to  respect  powers  inaugurated  from  above.  The 

1  Aubertiu,  ibid.  180,  362. 


CHAP.  in.    THE  PROPAGATION  OF  THE  DOCTRINE.  307 

parliamentarian,  conservative  through  his  profession,  wculd  be 
horrified  at  overthrowing  the  established  order  of  things.  Both 
combat  for  tradition  and  against  innovation ;  hence,  after  having 
defended  the  past  against  arbitrary  power  they  are  to  defend  it 
against  revolutionary  violence  and  to  fall,  the  one  into  impotency 
and  the  other  into  oblivion. 

II. 

Accordingly,  the  conflagration  is  of  slow  growth  among  thej 
middle  class,  and,  to  ensure  its  spreading,  a  gradual  transforma- 
tion has  to  be  effected  beforehand  to  render  the  refractory 
materials  combustible.  In  the  eighteenth  century  a  great  change 
takes  place  in  the  condition  of  the  Third-Estate.  The  bourgeois 
has  labored,  manufactured,  traded,  earned  and  saved  money, 
and  he  has  daily  become  richer  and  richer.1  This  great  expansion 
of  enterprises,  of  trade,  of  speculation  and  of  fortunes  dates  from 
Law ;  arrested  by  war  it  reappears  with  more  vigor  and  more 
animation  at  each  interval  of  peace  after  the  treaty  of  Aix-la- 
Chapelle  in  1748,  and  that  of  Paris  in  1763,  and  especially  after 
the  beginning  of  the  reign  of  Louis  XVI.  The  exports  of  France 
which  amounted  to  one  hundred  and  six  millions  in  1720,  to  one 
hundred  and  twenty-four  millions  in  1735,  and  to  one  hundred 
and  ninety- two  millions  in  1748,  amount  to  two  hundred  and 
fifty-seven  millions  in  1755,  to  three  hundred  and  nine  millions 
in  1776,  and  to  three  hundred  and  fifty-four  millions  in  1788. 
In  1786  St.  Domingo  alone  sends  to  the  metropolis  one  hundred 
and  thirty-one  millions  of  its  products  and  takes  back  fifty 
four  millions  in  merchandise.  As  an  effect  of  these  interchanges 
we  see  arising  at  Nantes,  and  at  Bordeaux,  rolpssal  r.nmmprn'al  w 
houses.  I  consider  Bordeaux,  says  Arthur  Young,  as  richer  and 
doing  more  business  than  any  city  in  England  except  London, 
...  of  late  years  the  progress  of  maritime  commerce  has 

>  Voltaire,  "  Siecle  de  Louis  XV. ,"  ch.  xxxl ;  "  Siecle  de  Louis  XIV. ,"  ch.  xxx.  "  Industry 
increases  every  day.  To  see  the  privpf'-  'i  play,  the  prodigious  number  of  pleasant  dwellings 
erected  in  Paris  and  in  the  provinces,  the  numerous  equipages,  the  conveniences,  the  acquisi- 
tions comprehended  in  the  term  luxe,  one  might  suppose  that  opulence  was  twenty  times 
greater  than  it  formerly  was.  All  this  is  the  result  of  ingenuity,  much  more  than  of  wealth. 
.  .  .  The  middle  class  has  become  wealthy  by  industry.  Commercial  gains  have  augmented 
The  opulence  of  the  great  is  less  than  it  was  formerly  and  much  larger  among  the  middle 
class,  the  distance  between  men  even  being  lessened  by  it  Formerly  the  inferior  class  had 
no  resource  but  to  serve  their  superiors;  nowadays  industry  has  opened  up  A  tbrusand  roadf 
unknown  a  hundred  yean  ago." 


308  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  IV. 

been  more  rapid  in  France  than  even  in  England.1  According 
to  an  administrator  of  the  day  if  the  taxes  on  the  consumption 
of  products  daily  increase  the  revenue,  it  is  owing  to  various 
descriptions  of  industry  having  become  greatly  extended  since 
1774.*  And  this  progress  is  regular  and  constant.  "We  may 
calculate,"  says  Necker  in  1781,  "on  an  increase  of  two  millions  a 
year  on  all  the  duties  on  consumption."  In  this  great  effort  of 
invention,  labor  and  genius,  Paris,  constantly  growing,  is  the 
central  workshop.  It  enjoys,  to  a  much  greater  extent  than  to- 
day, the  monopoly  of  all  works  of  intelligence  and  taste,  books, 
pictures,  engravings,  statues,  jewelry,  toilet  details,  carriages, 
furniture,  articles  of  fashion  and  rarity,  whatever  affords  pleasure 
and  ornamentation  for  an  elegant  worldly  society ;  all  Europe  is 
thus  supplied  by  it.  In  1774  its  trade  in  books  is  estimated  at 
forty-five  millions,  and  that  of  London  at  only  one-quarter  of 
that  sum.3  Many  immense  fortunes  were  accumulated,  and  a 
still  larger  number  of  moderate  fortunes,  while  the  capital  thus 
increasing  sought  investment.  The  highest  in  the  kingdom  are 
standing  ready  with  outstretched  hands  to  obtain  it,  nobles, 
princes  of  the  blood,  provincial  assemblies,  assemblies  of  the 
clergy,  and,  at  the  head  of  all,  the  king  who,  the  most  needy, 
borrows  at  ten  per  cent.,  and  is  always  in  quest  of  fresh  lenders. 
Already  under  Fleury,  the  debt  has  augmented  to  eighteen 
millions  in  rentes  and  during  the  Seven  Years'  War,  to  thirty-four 
millions.  Under  Louis  XVI.  M.  Necker  borrows  a  capital  of 
five  hundred  and  thirty  millions ;  M.  Joly  de  Fleury,  three  hun- 
dred millions;  M.  de  Calonne,  eight  hundred  millions;  in  all 
sixteen  hundred  and  thirty  millions  in  a  peroid  of  ten  years. 
The  interest  of  the  public  debt,  only  forty-five  millions  in  1755, 
reaches  one  hundred  and  six  millions  in  1776  and  amounts  to 
'.wo  hundred  and  six  millions  in  1789.*  What  creditors  are  indi- 
cated by  these  few  figures!  As  the  Third- Estate,  it  must  be  noted, 
is  the  sole  body  that  makes  and  saves  money,  nearly  all  these 
creditors  belong  to  it.  Thousands  of  others  must  be  added  to 
these.  In  the  first  place,  the  financiers  who  make  advances  to 

1  Arthur  Young,  II.  360,  373. 

'  De  Tocqueville,  255. 

1  Aubertin,  482. 

•  Roux  and  Buchez,  "  Histoire  parlementaire."  Extracted  from  the  accounts  made  up  by 
the  comptrollers-general,  I.  175,  205.  The  report  by  Necker,  I.  376.  To  the  206,000,00* 
must  be  added  15,800,000  fot  expenses  and  interest  on  advances. 


CHAV.  in.    THE  PROPAGATION  OF  THE  DOCTRINE.  309 

the  government,  advances  that  are  indispensable,  because,  from 
time  immemorial,  it  has  eaten  the  calf  in  the  cow's  belly,  while 
the  passing  year  is  always  gnawing  into  the  product  of  coming 
years;  there  are  eighty  millions  of  advances  in  1759,  and  one 
hundred  and  seventy  millions  in  1783.  In  the  second  place 
there  are  so  many  purveyors,  large  and  small,  who,  on  all  points 
of  the  territory,  keep  accounts  with  the  government  for  their 
supplies  and  for  public  works,  a  veritable  army  and  increasing 
daily,  since  the  government,  impelled  by  centralization,  takes 
sole  charge  of  all  enterprises,  and,  through  the  urgency  of  opin- 
ion, enterprises  of  public  utility.  Under  Louis  XV.  the  State 
builds  six  thousand  leagues  of  roads,  and  under  Louis  XVI.  in 
1788,  to  guard  against  famine,  it  purchases  grain  to  the  amount 
of  forty  millions. 

Through  this  increase  of  activity  and  the  demands  for  capital 
it  becomes  the  universal  debtor ;  henceforth  public  affairs  are  no 
longer  exclusively  the  king's  affairs.  His  creditors  become  un- 
easy at  his  expenditures,  for  their  money  is  being  wasted,  and,  if 
he  proves  a  bad  administrator,  they  will  be  ruined.  They  want 
to  know  something  of  his  budget,  to  examine  his  books ;  a  lender 
always  has  the  right  to  look  after  his  securities.  We  accordingly 
see  the  bourgeois  raising  his  head  and  beginning  to  pay  close  at- 
tention to  the  great  machine  whose  performances,  hitherto  con- 
cealed from  vulgar  eyes,  have,  up  to  the  present  time,  been  kept 
a  state  secret.  He  becomes  a  politician,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
discontented.  For  it  cannot  be  denied  that  these  matters,  in 
which  he  is  interested,  are  badly  conducted.  Any  responsible 
member  of  a  family  managing  affairs  in  the  same  way  would  be 
arrested.  The  expenses  of  the  administration  of  the  State  are  al- 
ways in  excess  of  the  revenue.  According  to  official  admissions1 
the  annual  deficit  amounted  to  seventy  millions  in  1770,  and 
eighty  millions  in  1783;  the  attempts  to  reduce  this  consist 
of  bankruptcies;  one  of  two  millions  at  the  end  of  the  reign 
of  Louis  XIV.,  and  others  almost  equal  to  it  in  the  time  of  Law, 
and  another  from  a  third  to  a  half  of  all  the  rentes  in  the  time  of 
Terray,  without  mentioning  suppressions  in  detail,  reductions, 
indefinite  delays  in  payment,  and  other  violent  and  fraudu- 
lent means  which  a  powerful  debtor  employs  with  impunity 
against  a  feeble  creditor.  "Fifty-six  violations  of  public  faith 

1  Roux  and  Buchez,  I.  190.     "  Rapport,"  by  M.  de  Calonne. 


310  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  iv. 

have  occurred  from  Henry  IV.  down  to  the  ministry  of  M.  de 
Lome'nie  inclusive," 1  while  a  last  bankruptcy,  more  frightful  than 
the  others,  looms  up  on  the  horizon.  Several  persons,  Bezenval 
and  Linguet  for  instance,  earnestly  recommend  it  as  a  necessary  and 
salutary  amputation.  Not  only  are  there  precedents  for  this,  and 
in  this  respect  the  government  will  do  no  more  than  follow  its 
own  example,  but  such  is  its  daily  practice,  since  it  lives  only  from 
day  to  day,  by  dint  of  expedients  and  delays,  digging  one  hole  to 
stop  up  another,  and  escaping  failure  only  through  the  forced  pa- 
tience which  it  imposes  on  its  creditors.  With  it,  says  a  contem- 
porary, people  were  never  sure  of  anything,  being  obliged  always 
to  wait.2  "Were  their  capital  invested  in  its  loans,  they  could 
never  rely  on  a  fixed  epoch  for  the  payment  of  interest.  Were 
vessels  reconstructed,  the  highways  repaired,  or  the  soldiers 
clothed,  they  remained  without  guarantees  for  their  advances, 
without  certificates  of  repayment,  being  reduced  to  calculating  the 
chances  of  a  ministerial  contract  as  they  would  the  risks  of  a  bold 
speculation."  It  pays  if  it  can  and  only  when  it  can,  even 
the  members  of  the  household,  the  purveyors  of  the  table 
and  the  personal  attendants  of  the  king.  In  1753  the  domestics 
of  Louis  XV.  had  received  nothing  for  three  years.  We  have 
seen  how  his  grooms  went  out  to  beg  during  the  night  in  the  streets 
of  Versailles ;  how  his  purveyors  "  hid  themselves ;  "  how,  under 
Louis  XVI.  in  1778,  there  were  792,620  francs  due  to  the  wine- 
merchant,  and  3,467,980  francs  to  the  purveyor  of  fish  and 
meat.3  In  1788,  so  great  is  the  distress,  the  Minister  de  Lome'nie 
appropriates  and  expends  the  funds  of  a  private  subscription 
raised  for  a  hospital,  and,  at  the  time  of  his  resignation,  the  treas- 
ury is  empty,  save  four  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs, 
the  half  of  which  he  puts  in  his  pocket.  What  an  administra- 
tion! 

In  the  presence  of  this  debtor,  evidently  becoming  insolvent, 
everybody,  far  and  near,  interested  in  his  business,  consult  to- 
gether with  alarm,  and  debtors  are  innumerable,  consisting  of 
bankers,  merchants,  manufacturers,  employe's,  lenders  of  every 
kind  and  degree,  and,  in  the  front  rank,  the  fund-holders,  who 

'  Champfort,  p.  105. 
1  De  Tocqueville,  261. 

•D'Argenson,  April  la,  1752,  February  u,  1752,    Tuly  24,   1753,  Decembe   7,   175^ 
Archives  nationales,  O1,  738. 


our.  ill.    THE  PROPAGATION  OF  THE  DOCTRINE.  311 

have  put  all  their  means  for  life  into  his  hands,  and  who  are 
to  beg  should  he  not  pay  them  annually  the  forty-four  millions  he 
owes  them,  the  industrialists  and  traders  who  have  intrusted  their 
commercial  integrity  to  him  and  who  would  shrink  with  horror 
from  failure  as  its  offset;  and  after  these  come  their  creditors, 
their  clerks,  their  kindred,  in  short,  the  largest  portion  of  the 
laboring  and  peaceable  class  which,  thus  far,  has  obeyed  without 
a  murmur  and  never  dreamed  of  bringing  the  established  order 
of  things  under  its  control.  Henceforth  this  class  will  exercise 
control  attentively,  distrustfully  and  angrily.  Woe  to  those  who 
are  at  fault  for  they  well  know  that  the  ruin  of  the  State  is  their 
ruin. 

III. 

Meanwhile  this  class  has  climbed  up  the  social  ladder  and, 
through  its  ////<?,  rejoined  those  in  the  highest  position.  Formerly 
between  Dorante  and  M.  Jourdain,  between  Don  Juan  and  M. 
Dimanche,  between  M.  de  Sotenville  himself  and  Georges  Dan- 
din,1  the  interval  was  immense ;  everything  was  different — dress, 
house,  habits,  characters,  points  of  honor,  ideas  and  language. 
On  the  one  hand  the  nobles  are  drawn  nearer  to  the  Third-Estate 
and,  on  the  other,  the  Third-Estate  is  drawn  nearer  to  the  nobles, 
actual  equality  having  preceded  equality  as  a  right. 

On  the  approach  of  the  year  1789  it  was  difficult  to  distinguish 
one  from  the  other  in  the  street.  The  sword  is  no  longer  worn 
by  gentlemen  in  the  city;  they  have  abandoned  embroideries 
and  laces  and  walk  about  in  plain  frock-coats  or  drive  them- 
selves in  their  cabriolets.2  "The  simplicity  of  English  customs," 
and  the  customs  of  the  Third-Estate  seem  to  them  better  adapted 
to  ordinary  life.  Their  prominence  proves  irksome  to  them  and 
they  grow  weary  of  being  always  on  parade.  Henceforth  they 
accept  familiarity  that  they  may  enjoy  freedom  of  action  and 
are  content  "  to  mingle  with  their  fellow-citizens  without  obstacle 
or  ostentation."  It  is  certainly  a  grave  sign,  and  the  old  feudal 
spirits  have  reason  to  tremble.  The  Marquis  de  Mirabeau,  on 
learning  that  his  son  wishes  to  act  as  his  own  lawyer,  consoles 
himself  by  seeing  others,  of  still  higher  rank,  do  much  worse.3 

1  Characters  in  Moliere's  comedies. — TR. 

*  De  Segur.  I.  17. 
*  Lucas  de  Montigny,  Letter  of  the  Marquis  de  Mirabeau,  Much  03, 1783. 


312  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  rv. 

"Although  it  was  hard  to  accept  the  idea  that  the  grandson  of 
our  grandfather,  as  we  had  seen  him  on  the  public  promenade, 
the  whole  crowd,  little  and  big,  saluting  him  in  every  direction, 
should  now  figure  at  the  bar  of  a  low  tribunal,  wrangling  with 
pettifoggers  about  points  of  law,  I  then  said  to  myself  that  Louis 
XIV.  would  be  still  more  astonished  to  see  the  wife  of  his  lineal 
heir,  dressed  in  the  frock  and  apron  of  a  peasant  girl,  unat- 
tended, with  no  page  or  any  one  else,  scampering  about  the 
palace  and  on  the  terraces,  asking  the  first  fellow  in  a  dress-suit 
she  met  to  give  her  his  arm  and  escort  her  to  the  foot  of  the 
steps." — In  effect,  the  reduction  of  manners  and  externals  to 
one  level  simply  shows  that  minds  and  souls  are  also  on  a 
level.  If  the  old-time  scene  has  disappeared  this  merely  de- 
notes that  the  sentiments  likewise  have  disappeared.  It  indi- 
cated seriousness,  dignity,  habits  of  self-restraint  and  of  be- 
havior in  public,  authority  and  command.  It  consisted  of  the 
gorgeous  pomp  and  parade  of  a  social  staff.  The  parade 
has  now  vanished  because  the  staff  has  been  broken  up.  If 
nobles  dress  like  common  folks  it  is  owing  to  their  having 
become  common,  that  is  to  say,  idlers  who,  out  of  work, 
talk  and  amuse  themselves.  Undoubtedly  they  amuse  them- 
selves and  converse  like  people  of  refinement ;  but  it  is  not 
very  difficult  to  equal  them  in  this  respect.  Now  that  the  Third- 
Estate  has  acquired  its  wealth  a  good  many  plebeians  have 
become  people  of  society.  The  successors  of  Samuel  Bernard 
are  no  longer  so  many  Turcarets,  but  Paris- Duverneys,  Saint- 
Jameses,  Labordes,  refined  men,  people  of  culture  and  of  feeling; 
possessing  tact,  literary  and  philosophical  attainments,  benevo- 
lent, giving  f£tes  and  knowing  how  to  entertain.1  With  them, 
with  a  shade  of  difference,  we  find  about  the  sarre  company  as 
with  a  grand  seignior,  the  same  ideas  and  the  same  tone.  Their 
sons,  Messieurs  de  Villemer,  de  Francueil,  d'Epinay,  throw 
money  out  of  the  window  with  as  much  elegance  as  the  young 
dukes  with  whom  they  sup.  A  parvenu  with  money  and  intel- 
lect soon  becomes  brightened  and  his  son,  if  not  himself,  is 

1  Mme.  Vig£e-Lebrun,  I.  269,  231.  The  domestic  establishment  of  two  fanners-general, 
CM.  de  Verdun,  at  Colombes,  and  M.  de  St  James,  at  Neuilly).  A  superior  type  of  th« 
bourgeois  and  of  the  merchant  has  already  been  put  on  the  stage  by  Scdame  in  "Le  Philoso 
phe  sans  le  Savoir." 


CHAP.  in.     THE  PROPAGATION  OF  THE  DOCTRINE.  313 

initiated:  a  few  years'  exercises  in  an  academy,  a  dancing- 
master,  aid  one  of  the  four  thousand  public  offices  which  confer 
nobility,  supply  him  with  the  deficient  externals.  Now,  in 
these  times,  as  soon  as  one  knows  how  to  conform  to  the  laws 
of  good-breeding,  how  to  bow  and  how  to  converse,  one  pos- 
sesses a  patent  for  admission  everywhere.  An  Englishman  *  re- 
marks that  one  of  the  first  expressions  employed  in  praise  of  a 
man  is,  "he  has  a  very  graceful  address."  The  Mare"chale  de 
Luxembourg,  so  high-spirited,  always  selects  La  Harpe  as  her 
cavalier  because  "he  offers  his  arm  so  well."  The  plebeian  not 
only  enters  the  drawing-room,  if  he  is  fitted  for  it,  but  he  stands 
foremost  in  it  if  he  has  any  talent.  The  first  place  in  conversa- 
tion, and  even  in  public  consideration,  is  for  Voltaire,  the  son\ 
of  a  notary,  for  Diderot,  the  son  of  a  cutler,  for  Rousseau,  the! 
son  of  a  watchmaker,  for  d'Alembert,  a  foundling  brought  up  by 
a  glazier;  and,  after  the  great  men  have  disappeared,  and  no 
writers  of  the  second  grade  are  left,  the  leading  duchesses  are 
still  content  to  have  the  seats  at  their  tables  occupied  by  Champ- 
fort,  another  foundling,  Beaumarchais,  the  son  of  another  watch- 
maker, La  Harpe,  supported  and  raised  on  charity,  Marmontel, 
the  son  of  a  village  tailor  and  many  others  of  less  note,  in  short, 
every  parvenue  possessing  any  intellectual  power. 

The  nobility,  to  perfect  their  own  accomplishments,  borrow 
their  pens  and  aspire  to  their  successes.  "We  have  recovered 
from  those  old  Gothic  and  absurd  prejudices  against  literary 
culture,"  says  the  Prince  de  He'nin;2  "as  for  myself  I  would 
compose  a  comedy  to-morrow  if  I  had  the  talent,  and  if  I  hap- 
pened to  be  made  a  little  angry,  I  would  perform  in  it."  And, 
in  fact,  "  the  Vicomte  de  S6gur,  son  of  the  minister  of  war,  plays 
the  part  of  the  lover  in  'Nina'  on  Mile,  de  Guimard's  stage 
with  the  actors  of  the  Italian  Comedy."3  One  of  Mme.  de 
Genlis's  personages,  returning  to  Paris  after  five  years'  absence, 
says  that  "he  left  men  wholly  devoted  to  play,  hunting,  and 
their  small  houses  and  he  finds  them  all  turned  authors."4  They 

1  John  .Andrews,  "A  comparative  view,"  etc.,  p.  58. 

2  De  Tilly,  "Memoires,"  I.  31. 

*  Geffrey,  "Gustave  III,"     Letter  of  Mme.  de  Stael  (August,  1786). 

4  Mme.  de  Genlis,  "Adele  et  Theodore"  (1782),  I.  312.  Already  in  1762,  Bachaumont 
mentions  several  pieces  written  by  grand  seigniors,  such  as  "Clytemnestre,"  by  the  Comte 
de  Lauraguais ;  "Alexandre,"  by  the  Chevalier  de  Pension;  "Don  Carlos,"  by  the  MarquU 
de  Ximines. 

27 


314  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  rv 

hawk  about  their  tragedies,  comedies,  novsls,  eclogues,  disserta- 
tions and  treatises  of  all  kinds  from  one  drawing-room  to 
another.  They  strive  to  get  their  pieces  played ;  they  previously 
submit  them  to  the  judgment  of  actors ;  they  solicit  a  word  of 
praise  from  the  Mercure ;  they  read  fables  at  the  sittings  of  the 
Academy.  They  become  involved  in  the  bickerings,  in  the  vain- 
glory, in  the  littleness  of  literary  life,  and  still  worse,  of  the  life 
of  the  stage,  inasmuch  as  they  are  themselves  performers  and 
play  in  company  with  real  actors  in  hundreds  of  private  theatres. 
Add  to  this,  if  you  please,  other  petty  amateur  talents  such  as 
sketching  in  water-colors,  writing  songs,  and  playing  the  flute. 

After  this  intermixture  of  classes  and  this  displacement  of  char- 
acter what  superiority  rests  with  the  nobles  ?  By  what  special 
merit,  through  what  recognized  capacity  are  they  to  secure  the 
respect  of  a  member  of  the  Third-Estate  ?  Outside  of  fashion- 
able elegance  and  a  few  points  of  breeding,  in  what  respect  do 
they  differ  from  him  ?  What  superior  education,  what  familiarity 
with  affairs,  what  experience  with  government,  what  political  in- 
struction, what  local  ascendency,  what  moral  authority  can  be  al- 
leged to  sanction  their  pretensions  to  the  highest  places  ?  In  the 
way  of  practice,  the  Third-Estate  already  does  the  work,  pro- 
viding the  qualified  men,  the  intendants,  the  ministerial  head- 
clerks,  the  lay  and  ecclesiastical  administrators,  the  competent 
laborers  of  all  kinds  and  degrees.  Call  to  mind  the  Marquis  of 
whom  we  have  just  spoken,  a  former  captain  in  the  French  guards, 
a  man  of  feeling  and  of  loyalty,  admitting  at  the  elections  of  1 789 
that  "  the  knowledge  essential  to  a  deputy  would  most  generally 
be  found  in  the  Third-Estate,  the  mind  there  being  accustomed 
to  business."  In  the  way  of  theory:  the  plebeian  is  as  well- 
informed  as  the  noble,  and  he  thinks  he  is  still  better  informed, 
because,  having  read  the  same  books  and  arrived  at  the  same 
principles,  he  does  not,  like  him,  stop  half-way  on  the  road  to 
their  consequences,  but  plunges  headlong  to  the  very  depths  Df 
the  doctrine,  convinced  that  his  logic  is  clairvoyance  and  that  he 
is  the  more  enlightened  because  he  is  the  least  prejudiced.  Con- 
sider the  young  men  who,  about  twenty  years  of  age  in  1780, 
born  in  industrious  families,  accustomed  to  effort  and  able  to 
work  twelve  hours  a  day,  a  Barnave,  a  Carnot,  a  Rcederer,  a 
Merlin  de  Thionville,  a  Robespierre,  an  energetic  race  conscious 
of  its  strength,  criticizing  their  rivals,  aware  of  their  weakness,  com- 


CHAP.  III.     THE  PROPAGATION  OF  THE  DOCTRINE.  313 

paring  their  own  application  and  education  to  their  levity  and 
incompetency,  and,  at  the  moment  when  youthful  ambition  stirs 
within  them,  seeing  themselves  excluded  in  advance  from  any  su- 
perior position,  consigned  for  life  to  subaltern  employment,  and 
subjected  in  every  career  to  the  precedence  of  superiors  whom 
they  hardly  recognize  as  their  equals.  At  the  artillery  examin- 
ations where  Che"rin,  the  genealogist,  refuses  plebeians,  and  where 
the  Abbe"  Bosen,  a  mathematician,  rejects  the  ignorant,  it  is  dis- 
covered that  capacity  is  wanting  among  the  noble  pupils  and  no- 
bility among  the  capable  pupils,1  the  two  qualities  of  gentility  and 
intelligence  seeming  to  exclude  each  other,  as  there  are  but  four 
or  five  out  of  a  hundred  pupils  who  combine  the  two  conditions. 
Now,  as  society  at  this  time  is  mixed,  such  tests  are  frequent  and 
easy.  Whether  lawyer,  physician,  or  man  of  letters,  a  member 
of  the  Third-Estate  with  whom  a  duke  converses  familiarly,  who 
sits  in  a  diligence  alongside  of  a  count-colonel  of  hussars,8  can 
appreciate  his  companion  or  his  interlocutor,  weigh  his  ideas,  test 
his  merit  and  esteem  him  at  his  just  value,  and  I  am  sure  that  he 
does  not  overrate  him.  The  nobility  having  lost  a  special  capac- 
ity, and  the  Third-Estate  having  acquired  a  general  capacity,  they 
are  on  a  par  in  education  and  in  aptitudes,  the  inequality  which 
separated  them  becoming  offensive  in  becoming  useless.  Nobil- 
ity being  instituted  by  custom  it  is  no  longer  sanctified  by  con- 
science, the  Third-Estate  being  justly  excited  against  privileges 
that  have  no  justification,  neither  in  the  capacity  of  the  noble  or 
in  the  incapacity  of  the  bourgeois. 

IV. 

Distrust  and  wrath  towards  the  government  which  compromises 
all  fortunes,  rancor  and  hostility  against  the  nobility  which  bars 
all  roads,  are,  then,  the  sentiments  that  develop  themselves  1» 
the  middle  class  solely  throagh  the  advance  of  its  wealth  and 
culture.  Acting  on  material  of  this  description  we  can  divine  the 
effect  of  the  new  philosophy  At  first,  confined  to  the  aristocratic 
reservoir,  the  doctrine  filters  out  through  all  interstices  like  so  many 
trickling  streams  and  insensibly  diffuses  itself  among  the  lower 
class.  Already,  in  1727,  Barbier,  a  bourgeois  of  the  old  stock! 

'Champfort,  119. 

•  De  Vaublanc,  I.  117.    Beugnot,  "M6moires,"  (the  first  and  second  passages  relating  to 
lodety  at  the  domiciles  of  M.  de  Brienne,  and  the  Due  de  Penthievre.) 


3i6  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  rv. 

and  having  little  knowledge  of  philosophy  and  philosophers 
except  the  name,  thus  writes  in  his  journal:  "A  hundred  poor 
families  are  deprived  of  the  annuities  on  which  they  supported 
themselves,  acquired  with  bonds  for  which  the  king  is  responsible 
and  of  which  the  capital  is  obliterated;  fifty-six  thousand  livres 
are  given  in  pensions  to  people  who  have  held  the  best  offices, 
where  they  have  amassed  considerable  property,  always  at  the 
expense  of  the  people,  and  all  this  merely  that  they  may  rest 
themselves  and  do  nothing."1  One  by  one,  reformatory  ideas 
penetrate  to  his  office  of  consulting  advocate ;  conversation  has 
sufficed  to  propagate  them,  homely  common  sense  needing  no 
philosophy  to  secure  their  recognition.  "  The  tax  on  property," 
said  he, -in  1750,  "should  be  proportioned  and  equally  distributed 
among  all  the  king's  subjects  and  the  members  of  the  government, 
in  proportion  to  the  property  each  really  possesses  in  the  kingdom; 
in  England,  the  lands  of  the  nobility,  the  clergy  and  the  Third- 
Estate  pay  alike  without  distinction,  and  nothing  is  more  just." 
In  the  six  years  which  follow  the  flood  increases.  People  de- 
nounce the  government  in  the  cafes,  on  their  promenades,  while 
the  police  dare  not  arrest  malcontents  "  because  they  would  have 
to  arrest  everybody."  The  disaffection  goes  on  increasing  up 
to  the  end  of  the  reign.  In  1744,  says  the  bookseller  Hardy, 
during  the  king's  illness  at  Metz,  private  individuals  cause  six 
thousand  masses  to  be  said  for  his  recovery  and  pay  for  them  at 
the  sacristy  of  Notre  Dame;  in  1757,  after  Damiens's  attempt 
on  the  king's  life,  the  number  of  masses  demanded  is  only  six 
hundred;  in  1774,  during  the  malady  which  carries  him  off,  the 
number  falls  down  to  three.  The  government  is  in  complete 
discredit,  which  is  an  immense  success  for  Rousseau,  these  two 
events,  occurring  simultaneously,  affording  a  date  for  the  conver- 
sion of  the  Third- Estate  to  philosophy.2 — A  traveller,  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  reign  of  Louis  XVI.,  who  returns  home  after  some 
years'  absence,  on  being  asked  what  change  he  noticed  in  the 
nation,  replied,  "  Nothing,  except  that  what  used  to  be  talked  abom 

1  Barbier,  II.  ibid, ;  III.  255  (May,  1751).  "The  king  is  robbed  by  all  the  seignior* 
around  him,  especially  on  his  journeys  to  his  different  chateaux,  which  are  frequent"  And 
September,  1750.  Cf.  Aubertin,  291,  415  ("Memoires,"  manuscript  by  Hardy). 

8  Treaties  of  Paris  and  Hubersbourg,  1763.  The  trial  of  La  Chalotais,  1765.  Bankruptcy  of 
Terray,  1770.  Destruction  of  the  Parliament,  1771.  The  first  partition  of  Poland,  1772. 
Rousseau,  "Discours  sur  1'inegalite,"  1753.  "Heloise,"  1759.  "Emile"  and  "Contra! 
Social,"  1762. 


CHAP.  HI.    THE  PROPAGATION  OF  THE  DOCTRINE.  317 

in  the  drawing-rooms  is  repeated  in  the  streets?*  And  that  which 
is  repeated  in  the  streets  is  Rousseau's  doctrine,  the  Discourse 
on  Inequality,  the  Social  Contract  amplified,  popularized  and 
repeated  by  disciples  in  every  tone  and  in  every  shape.  What 
is  more  fascinating  for  the  man  of  the  Third- Estate  ?  Not  only 
is  this  theory  in  vogue,  and  encountered  by  him  at  the  decisive 
moment  when,  for  the  first  time,  he  turns  his  attention  to  general 
principles,  but  again,  it  provides  him  with  arms  against  social  ine- 
quality and  political  absolutism,  and  much  sharper  than  he  needs. 
To  people  disposed  to  put  restraints  on  power  and  to  abolish 
privileges,  what  guide  is  more  sympathetic  than  the  writer  of 
genius,  the  powerful  logician,  the  impassioned  orator,  who  es- 
tablishes natural  law,  who  repudiates  historic  law,  who  proclaims 
the  equality  of  men,  who  contends  for  the  sovereignty  of  the 
people,  who  denounces  on  every  page  the  usurpation,  the  vices, 
the  worthlessness,  the  malefactions  of  the  great  and  of  kings! 
And  I  omit  the  points  by  which  he  makes  acceptable  to  a  rigid 
and  laborious  bourgeoisie,  to  the  new  men  that  are  working  and 
advancing  themselves,  his  steady  earnestness,  his  harsh  and 
bitter  tone,  his  eulogy  of  simple  habits,  of  domestic  virtues,  of 
personal  merit,  of  virile  energy,  the  plebeian  addressing  plebeians. 
It  is  not  surprising  that  they  should  accept  him  for  a  guide  and 
welcome  his  doctrines  with  that  fervor  of  faith  which  constitutes 
enthusiasm  and  which  is  always  an  accompaniment  of  the  new- 
born idea  as  of  the  new-born  affection. 

A  competent  judge,  and  an  eye-witness,  Mallet  Dupan,  writes 
in  1799:  "Rousseau  had  a  hundred  times  more  readers  among 
the  middle  and  lower  classes  than  Voltaire.  He  alone  inoculated 
the  French  with  the  doctrine  of  the  sovereignty  of  the  people  and 
with  its  extremest  consequences,  It  would  be  difficult  to  cite  a 
single  revolutionist  who  was  not  transported  over  these  anarchical 
theories,  and  who  did  not  burn  with  ardor  to  realize  them.  That 
Contrat  Social,  the  disintegrator  of  societies,  was  the  K  "ran  of 
the  pretentious  talkers  of  1789,  of  the  Jacobins  of  1790,  of  the 
republicans  of  1791,  and  of  the  most  atrocious  of  the  madmen. 
...  I  heard  Marat  in  1788  read  and  comment  on  the  Contrat 
Social  in  the  public  streets  to  the  applause  of  an  enthusiastic  aud- 
itory." The  same  year,  in  an  immense  throng  filling  the  great 

•  L)e  Barant:,  "Tableau  de  la  literature  franfaise  au  dix-huideme  siecle,"  313. 
27* 


*l8  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME  BOOK  iv 

aall  of  the  Palais  de  Justice,  Lacretelle  heais  the  same  book 
cited,  its  dogmas  enforced  "by  members  of  the  bar,1  by  young 
lawyers,  by  the  whole  lettered  tribe  swarming  with  new-fledged 
publicists."  Hundreds  of  details  show  us  that  it  is  a  catechism 
in  every  hand.  In  1784*  certain  magistrates'  sons,  on  taking 
their  first  lesson  in  jurisprudence  of  an  assistant  professor,  M. 
Saveste,  have  the  "Contrat  Social"  placed  in  their  hands  as  a 
manual.  Those  who  find  this  new  political  geometry  too  difficult 
learn  at  least  its  axioms,  and,  if  these  prove  unmanageable  they 
derive  from  them  their  palpable  consequences,  so  many  convenient 
equivalents,  the  small  current  change  of  the  literature  in  vogue, 
whether  drama,  history,  or  romance.3  The  dogmas  of  equality 
and  liberty  infiltrate  and  penetrate  the  class  able  to  read  the 
"  Eloges "  by  Thomas,  the  pastorals  of  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre, 
the  compilation  of  Raynal,  the  comedies  of  Beaumarchais  and 
even  the  "  Young  Anarcharsis  "  and  the  literature  of  the  new-fash- 
ioned Greek  and  Roman  antiquity.4  "A  few  days  ago,"  says 
M6tra,5  "a  dinner  of  forty  ecclesiastics  from  the  country  took 
place  at  the  house  of  the  curate  of  Orangis,  five  leagues  from 
Paris.  At  the  dessert,  and  in  the  truth  which  came  out  over  their 
wine,  they  all  admitted  that  they  came  to  Paris  to  see  the  '  Mar- 
riage of  Figaro.'  .  .  .  Up  to  the  present  time  it  seems  as  if 
comic  authors  intended  to  make  sport  for  the  great  at  the  expense 
of  the  little,  but  here,  on  the  contrary,  it  is  the  little  who  laugh  at  the 
expense  of  the  great."  Hence  the  success  of  the  piece.  A  steward 
of  a  chateau  finds  a  Raynal  in  the  library,  the  furious  declamation 
of  which  so  delights  him  that,  at  the  end  of  thirty  years,  he  can  re- 
peat it  without  stumbling.  A  sergeant  in  the  French  guards  em- 
broiders waistcoats  throughout  the  night  to  earn  the  wherewithal 
to  purchase  new  books  of  this  stamp.  After  the  gallant  picture 
of  the  boudoir  comes  the  austere  and  patriotic  picture ;  "  Belisa- 
rius"  and  the  "Horatii"  of  David  indicate  the  new  public  spirit, 
also  that  of  the  studios.6  The  spirit  is  that  of  Rousseau,  "  the  re- 

1  Lacretelle,  "  Dix  ans  d'6preuves,"  p.  21. 

*  "Souvenirs  raanuscrits,"  by  M . 

*  "Le  Compere  Mathieu,"  by  Dulaurens  (1766).     "Our  sufferings  are  due  to  the  way  in 
which  we  are  brought  up,  namely,  the  state  of  society  in  which  we  are  born.     New  that 
»tate  being  the  source  of  all  our  ills  its  dissolution  must  become  that  of  all  our  good." 

4  The  "Tableau  de  Paris,"  by  Mercier  (12  vols.),  is  the  completes!  and  most  exact  pot" 
trayal  of  the  ideas  and  aspirations  of  the  middle  class  from  1781  to  1788. 

*  "Correspondance,"  by  M6tra,  XVII.  87  (August  20,  1784). 

*  "  Belisarius,"  belongs  to  1780,  and  the  "Oath  of  the  Horatii,"  to  1783. 


CHAP.  in.    THE  PROPAGATION  OF  THE  DOCTRINE.  319 

publican  spirit;"1  the  entire  middle  class,  artists,  employe's, 
curates,  physicians,  attorneys,  advocates,  the  lettered  and  the  jour- 
nalists, all  are  won  over  to  it;  and  its  aliment  consists  of  the 
worst  as  well  as  the  worthiest  passions,  ambition,  envy,  craving 
for  liberty,  zeal  for  the  public  welfare  and  the  consciousness  of 
right. 

V. 

All  these  passions  intensify  each  other.  There  is  nothing  like 
a  wrong  to  quicken  the  sentiment  of  justice.  There  is  nothing 
like  the  sentiment  of  justice  to  quicken  the  injury  proceeding  from 
a  wrong.  The  Third-Estate,  considering  itself  deprived  of  the 
place  to  which  it  is  entitled,  finds  itself  uncomfortable  in  the  place 
it  occupies  and,  accordingly,  suffers  through  a  thousand  petty 
grievances  it  would  not,  formerly,  have  noticed.  On  discovering 
that  he  is  a  citizen  a  man  is  irritated  at  being  treated  as  a  subject, 
no  one  accepting  an  inferior  position  alongside  of  one  of  whom 
he  believes  himself  the  equal.  Hence,  during  a  period  of  twenty 
years,  the  ancient  regime  vainly  grows  easier,  seeming  to  be 
still  more  burdensome,  while  its  scratches  exasperate  as  if  they 
were  so  many  wounds.  Countless  instances  might  be  quoted 
instead  of  one.  At  the  theatre  in  Grenoble,  Barnave,2  a  child,  is 
with  his  mother  in  a  box  which  the  Due  de  Tonnerre,  governoi 
of  the  province,  had  assigned  to  one  of  his  satellites.  The  man- 
ager of  the  theatre,  and  next  an  officer  of  the  guard,  request 
Madame  Barnave  to  withdraw.  She  refuses,  whereupon  the  gov- 
ernor orders  four  fusileers  to  force  her  out.  The  pit  had  already- 
taken  the  matter  up  and  violence  was  feared  when  M.  Barnave, 
advised  of  the  affront,  entered  and  led  his  wife  away,  exclaiming 
aloud,  "  I  leave  by  order  of  the  governor."  The  indignant  pub- 
lic, all  the  bourgeoisie,  agreed  among  themselves  not  to  enter  the 
theatre  again  without  an  apology  being  made,  the  theatre,  in 
fact,  remaining  empty  several  months  until  Madame  Baruave 
consented  to  reappear  there.  This  outrage  afterwards  recurred 
to  the  future  deputy,  and  he  then  swore  "to  elevate  the  caste  to 
which  he  belonged  out  of  the  humiliation  to  which  it  seemed 

1  Geffrey,  "Gustave  III.  et  la  cour  de  France."  "Paris,  with  its  republican  spirit, 
generally  applauds  whatever  fails  at  Fontainebleau."  (A  letter  by  Madame  de  Stae'l,  Sept 
17,  1786). 

*  Sainte-Beuve,  "Causeries  du  Lundi,"  II.  24,  fa  the  article  on  Barnave. 


320  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  IV. 

condemned."     In  like  manner  Lacroix,  the  future  member  of  the 
Convention,1  on  leaving  a  theatre  and  jostled  by  a  gentleman 
who  was  giving  his  arm  to  a  lady,  utters  a  loud  complaint. 
"Who  are  you  ?  "  says  the  person.     Still  the  provincial,  he  is  sim- 
ple enough  to  give  his  name,  surname,  and  qualifications  in  full. 
"Very  well,"  says  the  other  man,  "good  for  you — I  am  the 
Comte   de  Chabannes  and  I  am  in  a  hurry,"  saying  which, 
"laughing  heartily,"  he  jumps  into  his  vehicle.     "Ah,  sir,"  ex 
claimed  Lacroix,  still  much  excited  by  his  misadventure,  "pride 
and  prejudice  establish  an  awful  gulf  between  man  and  man ! " 
We  may  rest  assured  that,  with  Marat,  a  veterinary  surgeon  in  the 
Comte  d'Artois's  stables,  with  Robespierre,  a  protege"  of  the 
bishop  of  Arras,  with  Danton,  an  insignificant  lawyer  in  Mery- 
sur-Seine,  and  with  many  others  beside,  self-esteem,  in  frequent 
encounters,  bled  in  the  same  fashion.     The  concentrated  bitter- 
ness with  which  Madame  Roland's  memoirs  is  imbued  has  no 
other  cause.     "  She  could  not  forgive  society 2  for  the  inferior  po- 
sition she  had  so  long  occupied  in  it."3    Thanks  to  Rousseau, 
vanity,  so  natural  to  man,  and  especially  sensitive  with  a  French- 
man, becomes  still  more  sensitive.     The  slightest  discrimination, 
a  tone  of  the  voice,  seems  a  mark  of  disdain.      "  One  day,  on 
mentioning  to  the  minister  of  war  a  general  officer  who  had  ob- 
tained his  rank  through  merit;  '  Ah,  yes,'  replied  the  minister,  '  a 
general  officer  of  luck  ! '    The  witticism  spread  and,  commented 
on,  did  much  mischief." — In  vain  do  the  grandees  show  their 
condescending  spirit,  "welcoming  with  equal  kindness  and  gen- 

1  De  Tilly,  "  M6moires,"  I.  243. 

•  The  words  of  Fontanes  who  knew  her  and  admired  her.     (Sainte-Beuve,  "  Nouveauz 
Lundis,"  VIII.  221). 

*"M6moires  de  Madame  Roland, "passim.  At  fourteen  years  of  age,  on  being  in- 
troduced to  Mme.  de  Boismorel,  she  is  hurt  at  hearing  her  grandmother  addressed  "Ma- 
demoiselle." Shortly  after  this,  she  says:  "I  could  not  conceal  from  myself  that  I  was  of 
more  consequence  than  Mile.  d'Hannaches  whose  sixty  years  and  her  genealogy  did  not 
enabU:  her  to  write  a  common-sense  letter  or  one  that  was  legible."  About  the  same  epoch 
she  passes  a  week  at  Versailles  with  a  servant  of  the  Dauphine,  and  tells  her  mother,  "'A 
few  days  more  and  I  shall  so  detest  these  people  that  I  shall  not  know  how  to  suppress  my 
hatred  of  them.'  'What  injury  have  they  done  you  ?'  she  inquires.  '  It  is  the  feeling  of 
injustice  and  the  constant  contemplation  of  absurdity ! '"  At  the  chateau  of  Fontenay  where 
ihe  is  invited  to  dine,  she  and  her  mother  are  made  to  dine  in  the  servants'  room,  etc.  "  In 

1818,  in  a  small  town  in  the  north,  the  Comte  de dining  with  a  bourgeois  sub-prefecl 

and  placed  by  the  side  of  the  mistress  of  the  house  says  to  her,  on  accepting  the  soup, 
'Thanks,  my  dear,'  (merci,  ma  chere).  Through  the  Revolution  the  lower  class  bourgeoisie 
have  full  play;  a  moment  after,  she  addresses  him,  with  one  of  her  sweetest  smiles,  'WiU 
you  take  some  chicken,  my  dear  ? '  "  (It  is  useless  to  state  that  the  sense  of  this  anecdote  U 
not  fully  conveyed  by  a  literal  translation.) — TR. 

*  De  Vaublanc,  I.  153. 


CHAP.  in.    THE  PROPAGATION  OF  THE  DOCTRINE.  321 

tleness  all  who  are  presented  to  them."  In  the  mansion  of  the 
Due  de  Penthievre  the  nobles  eat  at  the  table  of  the  master  of  the 
house,  the  plebeians  dine  with  his  first  gentleman  and  only  enter 
the  drawing-room  when  coffee  is  served.  There  they  find  "  in  full 
strength  and  with  a  high  tone"  the  others  who  had  the  honor  of 
dining  with  His  Highness,  and  "who  do  not  fail  to  salute  the 
new  arrivals  with  a  complacency  instinct  with  patronage."  *  This 
suffices ;  in  vain  the  Duke  "  carries  his  attentions  even  to  the  most 
minute  degree."  Beugnot,  so  pliable,  has  no  desire  to  return. 
They  bear  them  ill-will,  not  only  on  account  of  their  slight  bows 
but  again  on  account  of  their  over-politeness.  Champfort  acri- 
moniously relates  that  d'Alembert,  at  the  height  of  his  reputation, 
being  in  Madame  du  Deffant's  drawing-room  with  President  H6- 
nault  and  M.  de  Pont-de-Veyle,  a  physician  enters  named  Four- 
nier,  and  he,  addressing  Madame  du  Deffant,  says,  "Madame,  I 
have  the  honor  of  presenting  you  with  my  very  humble  respects ; " 
turning  to  President  Renault,  "  I  have  the  honor  to  be  your  obe- 
dient servant,"  and  then  to  M.  de  Pont-de-Veyle,  "Sir,  your 
most  obedient,"  and  to  d'Alembert,  "  Good  day,  sir."  2  To  a  re- 
bellious heart  everything  is  an  object  of  resentment.  The  Third- 
Estate,  following  Rousseau's  example,  cherishes  ill-feeling  against 
the  nobles  for  what  they  do,  and  yet  again,  for  what  they  are, 
for  their  luxury,  their  elegance,  their  insincerity,  -  their  refined 
and  brilliant  behavior.  Champfort  is  embittered  against  them  on 
account  of  the  polite  attentions  with  which  they  overwhelm  him. 
Sieyes  bears  them  a  grudge  on  account  of  a  promised  abbey 
which  he  did  not  obtain.  Each  individual,  besides  the  general 
grievances,  has  his  personal  grievance.  Their  coolness,  like  their 
familiarity,  attentions  and  inattentions,  is  an  offence,  and,  under 
these  millions  of  needle-thrusts,  real  or  imaginary,  the  mind  gets 
to  be  full  of  gall. 

In  1789,  it  is  full  to  overflowing.  "The  most  honorable  title 
of  the  French  nobility,"  writes  Champfort,  "is  a  direct  descent 
from  some  thirty  thousand  helmeted,  cuirassed,  armletted  beings 

1  Beugnot,  "  M&noires,"  I.  77. 

*  Champfort,  16.  "Who  would  believe  it?  Not  taxation,  nor  letires-de-cachet,  nor  the 
abuses  of  power,  nor  the  vexations  of  intendants,  and  the  ruinous  delays  of  justice  have  pro- 
voked the  ire  of  the  nation,  but  their  prejudices  against  the  nobility  towards  winch  it  has  shown 
the  greatest  hatred.  This  evidently  proves  that  the  bourgeoisie,  the  men  of  letters,  the  finan- 
cial class,  in  fine  all  who  envy  the  nobles  have  excited  against  these  the  inferior  class  in  th« 
towns  and  among  the  rural  peasantry."  (Rivarol,  "Me'moires."* 


322  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  iv. 

who,  on  heavy  horses  sheathed  in  armoi,  trod  underfoot  eight  01 
ten  millions  of  naked  men,  the  ancesfr  irs  of  the  actual  nation. 
Behold  these  well-established  claims  to  the  respect  and  affection 
of  their  descendants !  And,  to  complete  the  respectability  of  this 
nobility,  it  is  recruited  and  regenerated  by  the  adoption  of  those 
who  have  acquired  fortune  by  plundering  the  cabins  of  the  poor 
who  are  unable  to  pay  its  impositions."1  "Why  should  not  the 
Third- Estate  send  back,"  says  Sieyes,2  "into  Franconia  every 
family  that  maintains-its  absurd  pretension  of  having  sprung  from 
the  loins  of  a  race  of  conquerors  and  of  having  succeeded  to 
the  rights  of  conquest?  I  can  well  imagine,  were  there  no 
police,  every  Cartouche  firmly  establishing  himself  on  the  high- 
road— would  that  give_  him  a  right  to  levy  toll  ?  Suppose  him  to 
sell  a  monopoly  of  this  kind,  once  common  enough,  to  an  honest 
successor,  would  the  right  become  any  more  respectable  in  the 
hands  of  the  purchaser  ?  .  .  .  Every  privilege,  in  its  nature,  is 
unjust,  odious,  and  against  the  social  compact.  The  blood  boils 
at  the  thought  of  its  ever  having  been  possible  to  legally  conse- 
crate down  to  the  eighteenth  century  the  abominable  fruits  of  an 
abominable  feudal  system.  .  .  .  The  caste  of  nobles  is  really 
a  population  apart,  a  fraudulent  population,  however,  which,  for 
lack  of  serviceable  faculties,  and  unable  to  exist  alone,  fastens 
itself  upon  a  living  nation,  like  the  vegetable  tumors  that  sup- 
port themselves  on  the  sap  of  the  plants  to  which  they  are  a 
burden  and  which  wither  beneath  the  load.  .  .  .  They  suck  all, 
everything  being  for  them.  .  .  .  Every  branch  of  the  executive 
power  has  fallen  into  the  hands  of  this  caste,  which  (formerly) 
supplied  the  church,  the  robe  and  the  sword.  A  sort  of  confra- 
ternity or  joint  paternity  leads  the  nobles  each  to  prefer  the  other 
and  all  to  the  rest  of  the  nation.  .  .  .  The  Court  reigns  and 
not  the  monarch.  The  Court  creates  and  distributes  offices. 
And  what  is  the  Court  but  the  head  of  this  vast  aristocracy  that 
covers  all  parts  of  France  and  which,  through  its  members,  at- 
tains to  and  exercises  everywhere  whatever  is  requisite  in  all 
branches  of  the  public  administration  ?  "  3  Let  us  put  an  end  to 
"this  social  crime,  this  long  parricide  which  one  class  does  itself 

1  Champfort,  335. 

»  Sieyes,  "  Qu'est  ce  quele  Tien  t "  17,  41,  139,  166. 

'  "The  nobility,  say  the  nobles,  Is  an  intermediary  between  the  king  and  the  people.    Y«^ 
u  the  hound  is  an  intermediary  between  the  huntt-  and  the  hare."    (Champfort). 


THAP  in.    THE  PROPAGATION  OF  THE  DOCTRINE.  32^ 

the  honor  to  commit  daily  against  the  others.  .  .  .  Ask  no 
longer  what  place  the  privileged  shall  occupy  in  the  social  order ; 
it  is  simply  asking  what  place  in  a  sick  man's  body  must  be 
assigned  to  a  malignant  ulcer  that  is  undermining  and  tormenting 
it  ...  to  the  loathsome  disease  that  is  consuming  the  living  flesh." 
The  result  is  apparent — let  us  eradicate  the  ulcer,  or  at  least 
sweep  away  the  vermin.  The  Third-Estate,  in  itself  and  by 
itself,  is  "  a  complete  nation,"  requiring  no  organ,  needing  no  aid 
to  subsist  or  to  govern  itself,  and  which  will  recover  its  health  on 
ridding  itself  of  the  parasites  infesting  its  skin.  "What  is  the 
Third-Estate  ?  Everything.  What,  thus  far,  is  it  in  the  political 
body  ?  Nothing.  What  does  it  demand  ?  To  become  some- 
thing." Not  a  portion  but  the  whole.  Its  political  ambition 
is  as  great  as  its  social  ambition,  and  it  aspires  to  authority 
as  well  as  to  equality.  If  privileges  are  an  evil  that  of  the  king 
is  the  worst  for  it  is  the  greatest,  and  human  dignity,  wounded  by 
the  prerogative  of  the  noble,  perishes  under  the  absolutism  of  the 
king.  Of  little  consequence  is  it  that  he  scarcely  uses  it,  and 
that  his  government,  deferential  to  public  opinion,  is  that  of  a 
hesitating  and  indulgent  parent.  Emancipated  from  real  des- 
potism, the  Third-Estate  becomes  excited  against  possible  des- 
potism, imagining  itself  in  slavery  in  consenting  to  remain 
subject.  A  proud  spirit  has  recovered  itself,  become  erect,  and, 
the  better  to  secure  its  rights,  is  going  to  claim  all  rights.  To  the 
man  who  from  antiquity  down  has  been  subject  to  masters,  it  is 
so  sweet,  so  intoxicating  to  be  in  their  places,  to  say  to  himself, 
they  are  my  mandataries,  to  regard  himself  a  member  of  the 
sovereign  power,  king  of  France  in  his  quota  relationship,  the 
sole  legitimate  author  of  all  rights  and  of  all  functions!  In  con- 
formity with  the  doctrines  of  Rousseau  the  memorials  of  the 
Third-Estate  unanimously  insist  on  a  constitution  for  France; 
none  exists,  or  at  least  the  one  she  possesses  is  of  no  value. 
Thus  far  "  the  conditions  of  the  social  compact  have  been  ig- 
nored;"1 now  that  they  have  been  discovered  ikcy  must  be 
written  out.  To  say,  with  the  nobles  according  to  Montesquieu, 
that  the  constitution  exists,  that  its  great  features  need  not  be 
changed,  that  it  is  necessary  only  to  reform  abuses,  that  the  States- 
General  exercise  onl)-  limited  power,  that  they  are  incompetent  to 

»  Prud'homme,  III.  a.     ("The  Third-Estate  of  Nivernais,"  passim.)     CC,  on  the  othef 
hand,  the  memorials  of  th«  nobility  of  Bugey  and  of  Alenjon. 


324  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  iv. 

substitute  another  regime  for  the  monarchy,  is  not  true.  Tacitly 
or  expressly,  the  Third-Estate  refuses  to  restrict  its  mandate  and 
allows  no  barriers  to  be  interposed  against  it.  It  requires  its  dep- 
uties accordingly  to  vote  "  not  by  orders  but  each  by  himself  and 
conjointly."  "  In  case  the  deputies  of  the  clergy  or  of  the  nobility 
should  refuse  to  deliberate  in  common  and  individually,  the  dep- 
uties of  the  Third-Estate,  representing  twenty-four  millions  of 
men,  able  and  obliged  to  declare  itself  the  National  Assembly,  not- 
withstanding the  scission  of  the  representation  of  four  hundred 
thousand  persons,  will  propose  to  the  King  in  concert  with  those 
among  the  Clergy  and  the  Nobility  disposed  to  join  them,  their  as- 
sistance in  providing  for  the  necessities  of  the  State,  and  the 
taxes  thus  assented  to  shall  be  apportioned  among  all  the  subjects 
of  the  king  without  distinction." l  Do  not  object  that  a  people 
thus  mutilated  becomes  a  mere  crowd,  that  leaders  cannot  be 
improvised,  that  it  is  difficult  to  dispense  with  natural  guides, 
that,  considering  all  things,  this  Clergy  and  this  Nobility  still  form 
a  select  group,  that  two-fifths  of  the  soil  is  in  their  hands,  that 
one-half  of  the  intelligent  and  cultivated  class  of  men  are  in  their 
ranks,  that  they  are  exceedingly  well-disposed  and  that  old  his- 
toric bodies  have  always  afforded  to  liberal  constitutions  their 
best  supports.  According  to  the  principle  enunciated  by  Rous- 
seau we  are  not  to  value  men  but  to  count  them.  In  politics 
numbers  only  are  respectable;  neither  birth,  nor  property,  nor 
function,  nor  capacity,  are  titles  to  be  considered ;  high  or  low, 
ignorant  or  learned,  a  general,  a  soldier,  or  a  hod-carrier,  each 
individual  of  the  social  army  is  a  unit  provided  with  a  vote; 
wherever  a  majority  is  found  there  is  the  right.  Hence,  the  Third- 
Estate  puts  forth  its  right  as  incontestable  and,  in  its  turn,  it  pro- 
claims with  Louis  XIV.,  "  I  am  the  State." 

This  principle  once  admitted  or  enforced,  all  will  go  well.  "  It 
seemed,"  says  an  eye-witness,2  "  as  if  we  were  about  to  be  governed 
by  men  of  the  golden  age.  This  free,  just  and  wise  people, 
always  in  harmony  with  itself,  always  clear-sighted  in  choosing 
its  ministers,  moderate  in  the  use  of  its  strength  and  power,  never 
could  be  led  away,  never  deceived,  never  under  the  dominion  of, 
or  enslaved  by,  the  authority  which  it  confided.  Its  will  would 
fashion  the  laws  and  the  law  would  constitute  its  happiness." 

>  Prud'homme,  ibid.,  Cahiers  of  the  Third-Estates  of  Dijon,  Dax,  Bayonne,  Saint-S6vfcre, 
Rennes,  etc. 
»  Mannontel,  "M&noire*,"  II.  141. 


CHAP.  Hi.    THE  PROPAGATION  OF  THE  DOCTRINE.  325 

The  nation  is  to  be  regenerated,  a  phrase  found  in  all  writings 
and  in  every  mouth.  At  Nangis,  Arthur  Young  finds  this  the  sub- 
stance of  political  conversation.1  The  chaplain  of  a  regiment, 
a  curate  in  the  vicinity,  keeps  fast  hold  of  it;  as  to  knowing 
what  it  means  that  is  another  matter.  It  is  impossible  to 
find  anything  out  through  explanations  of  it  otherwise  than  "  a 
theoretic  perfection  of  government,  questionable  in  its  origin, 
hazardous  in  its  progress,  and  visionary  in  its  end."  On  the 
Englishman  proposing  to  them  the  British  constitution  as  a 
model  they  "hold  it  cheap  in  respect  of  liberty"  and  greet  it 
with  a  smile;  it  is,  especially,  not  in  conformity  with  "the  princi- 
ples." And  observe  that  we  are  at  the  residence  of  a  grand 
seignior,  in  a  circle  of  enlightened  men.  At  Riom,  at  the  election 
assemblies2  Malouet  finds  "persons  of  an  ordinary  stamp,  practi- 
tioners, petty  lawyers,  with  no  experience  of  public  business, 
quoting  the  'Contrat  Social/  vehemently  declaiming  against 
tyranny,  and  each  proposing  his  own  constitution."  Most  of 
them  are  without  any  knowledge  whatever,  mere  traffickers  in 
chicane;  the  best  instructed  entertain  mere  schoolboy  ideas  of 
politics.  In  the  colleges  of  the  University  no  history  is  taught.3 
"The  name  of  Henry  IV.,  says  Lavalette,  was  not  once  uttered 
during  my  eight  years  of  study  and,  at  seventeen  years  of  age,  I 
was  still  ignorant  of  the  epoch  and  the  mode  of  the  establishment 
of  the  Bourbons  on  the  throne."  The  stock  they  carry  away 
with  them  consists  wholly,  as  with  Camille  Desmoulins,  of 
scraps  of  Latin,  entering  the  world  with  brains  stuffed  with  "re- 
publican maxims,"  excited  by  souvenirs  of  Rome  and  Sparta, 
and  "penetrated  with  profound  contempt  for  monarchical  govern- 
ments." Subsequently,  at  the  law  school,  they  learn  something 
about  legal  abstractions,  or  else  learn  nothing.  In  the  lecture- 
courses  at  Paris  there  are  no  auditors ;  the  professor  delivers  his 
lecture  to  copyists  who  sell  their  copy-books.  If  a  pupil  should 
attend  himself  and  take  notes  he  would  be  regarded  with  suspi- 
cion ;  he  would  be  charged  with  trying  to  deprive  the  copyists 
of  the  means  of  earning  their  living.  A  diploma,  consequently, 
is  worthless.  At  Bourges  one  is  obtainable  in  six  months;  if  the 
jroung  man  succeeds  in  comprehending  the  law  it  is  through 

1  Arthur  Young,  I.  222. 

*  Malouet,  "  M^moires,"  I.  279. 

•  De  Lavalette,  I.  7.     "  Souvenirs  Manuscrits,"  by  M       » 


326  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  IV. 

later  practice  and  familiarity  with  it.  Of  foreign  laws  and  insti- 
tutions there  is  not  the  least  knowledge,  scarcely  even  a  vague 
or  false  notion  of  them.  Malouet  himself  entertains  a  meagre 
idea  of  the  English  Parliament,  while  many,  with  respect  to  cere- 
monial, imagine  it  a  copy  of  the  Parliament  of  France.  The  mech- 
anism of  free  constitutions,  or  the  conditions  of  effective  liberty, 
that  is  too  complicated  a  question.  Montesquieu,  save  in  the  great 
magisterial  families,  is  antiquated  for  twenty  years  past.  Of 
what  avail  are  studies  of  ancient  France  ?  "  What  is  the  result 
of  so  much  and  such  profound  research  ?  Laborious  conjecture 
and  reasons  for  doubting."1  It  is  much  more  convenient  to 
start  with  the  rights  of  man  and  to  deduce  the  consequences. 
Schoolboy  logic  suffices  for  that  to  which  collegiate  rhetoric  sup- 
plies the  tirades. 

In  this  great  void  of  enlightenment  the  vague  terms  of  liberty, 
equality  and  the  sovereignty  of  the  people,  the  glowing  expres- 
sions of  Rousseau  and  his  successors,  all  these  new  axioms,  blaze 
up  like  burning  coals,  discharging  clouds  of  smoke  and  intoxicat- 
ing vapor.  High-sounding  and  vague  language  is  interposed 
between  the  mind  and  objects  around  it;  all  outlines  are  confused 
and  the  vertigo  begins.  Never  to  the  same  extent  have  men 
lost  the  purport  of  outward  things.  Never  have  they  been  at 
once  more  blind  and  more  chimerical.  Never  has  their  disturbed 
reason  rendered  them  more  tranquil  concerning  real  danger  and 
created  more  alarm  at  imaginary  danger.  Strangers  with  cool 
blood  and  who  witness  the  spectacle,  Mallet-Dupan,  Dumont 
of  Geneva,  Arthur  Young,  Jefferson,  Gouverneur  Morris,  write 
that  the  French  are  insane.  Morris,  in  this  universal  delirium, 
can  mention  to  Washington  but  one  sane  mind,  that  of  Marmontel, 
and  Marmontel  speaks  in  the  same  style  as  Morris.  At  the 
preliminary  meetings  of  the  clubs  and  at  the  assemblies  of 
electors  he  is  the  only  one  who  opposes  unreasonable  propositions. 
Surrounding  him  are  none  but  the  excited,  the  exalted,  about 
nothing  even  to  grotesqueness.2  In  every  act  of  the  established 
regime,  in  every  administrative  measure,  "  in  all  police  regulations, 
in  all  financial  decrees,  in  all  the  graduated  authorities  on  which 
public  order  and  tranquillity  depend,  there  was  nought  in  which 
they  did  not  find  an  aspect  of  tyranny.  .  .  .  On  the  walls  a.uU 

1  Prud'homme,  "Resume'  des  cahiers,"  the  "preface,"  by  J.  J.  Roi 
*  Marmontel,  II.  245. 


CHAP.  in.    THE  PROPAGATION  OF  THE  DOCTRINE.  327 

barriers  of  Paris  being  referred  to,  these  were  denounced  as 
enclosures  for  deer  and  derogatory  to  man."  "  I  saw,"  says  oae 
of  these  orators,  "  at  the  barrier  Saint- Victor,  sculptured  on  one 
of  the  pillars — would  you  believe  it  ? — an  enormous  lion's  head, 
with  open  jaws  vomiting  forth  chains  as  a  menace  to  those  who 
passed  it.  Could  a  more  horrible  emblem  of  slavery  and  of 
despotism  be  imagined!"  "The  orator  himself  imitates  the  roar 
of  the  lion.  The  listeners  were  all  excited  by  it  and  I,  who 
passed  the  barrier  Saint- Victor  so  often,  was  surprised  that  this 
horrible  image  had  not  struck  at  me.  That  very  day  I  examinee! 
it  closely  and,  on  the  pilaster,  I  found  only  a  small  buckler 
suspended  as  an  ornament  by  a  little  chain  attached  by  the 
sculptor  to  a  little  lion's  mouth,  like  those  we  see  serving  as 
door-knockers  or  as  water-cocks."  Perverted  sensations  and 
delirious  conceptions  of  this  kind  would  be  regarded  by  physi- 
cians as  the  symptoms  of  mental  derangement,  and  we  are  only 
in  the  early  months  of  the  year  1789!  In  such  excitable  and 
over-excited  brains  the  powerful  fascination  of  words  is  about  to 
exorcise  phantoms,  some  of  them  hideous,  the  aristocrat  and  the 
tyrant,  and  others  adorable,  the  friend  of  the  people  and  the 
incorruptible  patriot,  so  many  disproportionate  figures  fashioned 
in  dreams,  but  the  substitutes  of  figures  in  actual  life,  and  which 
the  maniac  is  to  overwhelm  with  his  praise  or  pursue  with  his  fury. 

VI. 

Thus,  the  philosophy  of  the  eighteenth  century  descends 
among  the  people  and  propagates  itself. — On  an  upper  story  of 
the  house,  ideas,  in  rooms  beautifully  gilded,  have  served 
merely  as  an  evening  illumination,  as  parlor  fire-crackers  and 
pretty  Bengal  lights;  the  company  have  had  their  fun  with  them 
and  then,  with  a  laugh,  have  thrown  them  from  the  windows. — 
Gathered  up  on  the  ground  floor,  borne  off  into  shops,  store- 
houses and  counting-rooms,  they  have  found  in  these  plenty  of 
combustible  material,  heaps  of  dry  wood  that  have  gradually 
accumulated,  and  here  the  flame  kindles  and  spreads.  It  looks 
like  a  conflagration;  for  the  chimney  roars  and  ruddy  gleams 
flash  through  the  window-panes. — "No,"  say  the  people  above, 
"  they  would  not  set  the  house  on  fire,  for  they  live  in  it  as  we 
do.  It  is  straw  burning,  or,  at  most,  a  chimney  on  fire,  and  a 


328  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  iv. 

little  water  will  extinguish  it,  and,  besides,  these  little  accidents 
clear  the  chimney  and  burn  out  the  soot." 

Take  care !    Under  the  vast  deep  arches  supporting  it,  in  the 
cellars  of  the  house,  there  is  a  magazine  of  powder. 


BOOK  FIFTH. 


CHAPTER  I. 

I.  Privations.  —  Under  Louis  XIV.  —  Under  Louis  XV.  —  Under  Louis 
XVI.  —  II.  The  condition  of  the  peasant  during  the  last  thirty  years  of  the 
Ancient  R6gime.  —  His  precarious  subsistence.  —  State  of  agriculture.  —  Un- 
cultivated farms.  —  Poor  cultivation.  —  Inadequate  wages.  —  Lack  of  comforts. 
—  III.  Aspects  of  the  country  and  of  the  peasantry.  —  IV.  How  the  peasant 
becomes  a  proprietor.  —  He  is  no  better  off.  —  Increase  of  taxes.  —  He  is  the 
"mule"  of  the  Ancient  Regime. 

I. 

LA  BRUY^RE  wrote,  just  a  century  before  1789,*  "Certain 
savage-looking  beings,  male  and  female,  are  seen  in  the  country, 
black,  livid  and  sunburnt,  and  belonging  to  the  soil  which  they 
dig  and  grub  with  invincible  stubbornness.  They  seem  capable 
of  articulation,  and,  when  they  stand  erect,  they  display  human 
lineaments.  They  are,  in  fact,  men.  They  retire  at  night  into 
their  dens  where  they  live  on  black  bread,  water  and  roots. 
They  spare  other  human  beings  the  trouble  of  sowing,  ploughing 
and  harvesting,  and  thus  should  not  be  in  want  of  the  bread  they 
have  planted."  They  continue  in  want  of  it  during  twenty-five 
years  after  this  and  die  in  herds.  I  estimate  that  in  1715  more 
than  one-third  of  the  population,  six  millions,  perish  with  hunger 
and  of  destitution.  The  picture,  accordingly,  for  the  first  quarter 
of  the  century  preceding  the  Revolution,  far  from  being  over- 
drawn, is  the  reverse  ;  we  shall  see  that,  during  more  than  half  a 
century,  up  to  the  death  of  Louis  XV.  it  is  exact  ;  perhaps  in- 
stead of  weakening  any  of  its  points,  they  should  be  strengthened, 

1  La  Bruyere,  edition  of  Destailleurs,  II.  97.     Addition  to  the  fourth  ed.  (1689). 
28* 


330  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  v 

"In  1725,"  says  St.  Simon,  "with  the  profuseness  of  Stras- 
bourg and  Chantilly,  the  people,  in  Normandy,  live  on  the  grass 
of  the  fields.  The  first  king  in  Europe  is  great  simply  by  being 
a  king  of  beggars  of  all  conditions,  and  by  turning  his  kingdom 
into  a  vast  hospital  of  dying  people  of  whom  their  all  is  taken 
without  a  murmur."1  In  the  most  prosperous  days  of  Fleury 
and  in  the  finest  region  in  France,  the  peasant  hides  "  his  wine  on 
account  of  the  excise  and  his  bread  on  account  of  the  faille"* 
convinced  "that  he  is  a  lost  man  if  any  doubt  exists  of  his  dying 
of  starvation."3  In  1739  d'Argenson  writes  in  his  journal:4 
"The  famine  has  just  occasioned  three  insurrections  in  the  prov- 
inces, at  Ruflec,  at  Caen,  and  at  Chinon.  Women  carrying  their 
bread  with  them  have  been  assassinated  on  the  highways.  .  .  . 
M.  le  Due  d'Orle"ans  brought  to  the  Council  the  other  day  a 
piece  of  bread,  and  placed  it  on  the  table  before  the  king ;  '  Sire,' 
said  he,  'there  is  the  bread  on  which  your  subjects  now  feed 
themselves.' "  "  In  my  own  canton  of  Touraine  men  have  been 
eating  herbage  more  than  a  year."  Misery  finds  company  on 
all  sides.  "  It  is  talked  about  at  Versailles  more  than  ever.  The 
king  interrogated  the  bishop  of  Chartres  on  the  condition  of  his 
people ;  he  replied  that  '  the  famine  and  the  mortality  were  such 
that  men  ate  grass  like  sheep  and  died  like  so  many  flies.' "  In 
1740,*  Massillon,  bishop  of  Clermont-Ferrand,  writes  to  Fleury: 
"  The  people  of  the  rural  districts  are  living  in  frightful  destitu- 
tion, without  beds,  without  furniture ;  the  majority,  for  half  the 
year,  even  lack  barley  and  oat  bread,  their  sole  food,  and  which 
they  are  compelled  to  take  out  of  their  own  and  their  childrens' 
mouths  to  pay  the  taxes.  It  pains  me  to  see  this  sad  spectacle 
every  year  on  my  visits.  The  negroes  of  our  colonies  are,  in  this 

1  Oppression  and  misery  begin  about  1672.  At  the  end  of  the  seventeenth  century  (1698), 
the  reports  made  up  by  the  intendants  for  the  Due  de  Bourgogne,  state  that  many  of  the 
districts  and  provinces  have  lost  one-sixth,  one-fifth,  one-quarter,  the  third  and  even  the 
half  of  their  population.  (See  details  in  the  "Correspondance  des  controleurs-geneVaux 
from  1683  to  1698,"  published  by  M.  de  Boislisle).  According  to  the  reports  of  intendants, 
(Vauban,  "Dime  Royale,"  ch.  vii.  §  2.),  the  population  of  France  in  1698  amounted  to 
19,994,146  inhabitants.  From  1698  to  1715  it  decreases.  According  to  Forbonnais,  there 
were  but  16  or  17  millions  under  the  Regency.  After  this  epoch  the  population  no  longer 
diminishes  but,  for  forty  years,  it  hardly  increases.  In  1753  (Voltaire,  "Diet  Phil.,"  article 
Population),  there  are  3,550,499  firesides,  besides  700,000  souls  in  Paris,  which  makes  from 
16  to  17  millions  of  inhabitants  if  we  count  four  and  one-half  persons  to  each  fireside,  and 
from  1 8  to  19  millions  if  we  count  five  persons. 

*  Floquet,  "  Histoire  du  Parlement  de  Normandie,"  VII.  402. 

*  Rousseau,  "Confessions,"  ist  part,  ch.  iv.  (1732). 

4  D  Argenson,  igth  and  24th  May,  July  4,  and  Aug.  i,  1739. 

*  "Resum£  de  1'histoire  d'Auvergne  par  un  Auvergnat"  (M.  Tallandier),  pt  3«J. 


CHAP.  I.  THE  PEOPLE.  331 

respect,  infinitely  better  off,  for,  while  working,  they  are  fed  and 
clothed  along  with  their  wives  and  children,  while  our  pe  asantry, 
the  most  laborious  in  the  kingdom,  cannot,  with  the  hardest  and 
most  devoted  labor,  earn  bread  for  themselves  and  their  families, 
and  at  the  same  time,  pay  the  subsidies."  In  1740,*  at  Lille,  the 
people  rebel  against  the  export  of  grain.  "  An  intendant  informs 
me  that  the  misery  increases  from  hour  to  hour,  the  slightest 
danger  to  the  crops  resulting  in  this  for  three  years  past.  .  . 
Flanders,  especially,  is  greatly  embarrassed;  there  is  nothing  to 
live  on  until  the  harvesting,  which  will  not  take  place  for  two 
months.  The  provinces  the  best  off  are  not  able  to  help  the 
others.  Each  bourgeois  in  each  town  is  obliged  to  feed  one  or 
two  poor  persons  and  provide  them  with  fourteen  pounds  of 
bread  per  week.  In  the  little  town  of  Chatellerault,  (of  four 
thousand  inhabitants),  eighteen  hundred  poor,  this  winter,  are  on 
that  footing.  .  .  .  The  poor  outnumber  those  able  to  live  without 
begging  .  .  .  while  prosecutions  for  unpaid  dues  are  carried  on 
with  unexampled  rigor.  The  clothes  of  the  poor  are  seized  and 
their  last  measure  of  flour,  the  latches  on  their  doors,  etc.  .  .  . 
The  abbess  of  Jouarre  told  me  yesterday  that,  in  her  canton,  in 
Brie,  most  of  the  ground  had  not  been  planted."  It  is  not  sur- 
prising that  the  famine  spreads  even  to  Paris.  "  Fears  are  enter- 
tained of  next  Wednesday.  There  is  no  more  bread  in  Paris, 
except  that  of  the  damaged  flour  which  is  brought  in  and  which 
burns  (when  baking).  The  mills  are  working  day  and  night  at 
Belleville,  regrinding  old  damaged  flour.  The  people  are  ready 
to  rebel ;  bread  goes  up  a  sol  a  day ;  no  merchant  dares,  or  is 
disposed,  to  bring  in  his  wheat.  The  market  on  Wednesday  was 
almost  in  a  state  of  revolt,  there  being  no  bread  in  it  after  seven 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  .  .  .  The  poor  creatures  at  Bicetre  were 
put  on  short  allowance,  three  quarterons  (twelve  ounces),  being 
reduced  to  only  half  a  pound.  A  rebellion  broke  out  and  they 
forced  the  guards.  Numbers  escaped  and  they  have  inundated 
Paris.  The  watch,  with  the  police  of  the  neighborhood,  were 
called  out  and  an  attack  was  made  on  these  poor  wretches  with 
bayonet  and  sword.  About  fifty  of  them  were  left  on  the  ground ; 
the  revolt  was  not  suppressed  yesterday  morning." 

Ten  years  later  the  evil  is  greater.2     "  In  the  country  around 

1  D'Argenson,  1740,  Aug.  7  and  21,  September  19  and  24,  May  28,  November  7. 
*  D'Argenson,  October  4,  1749;  May  20,  Sept.  12,  Oct  «8,  Dec.  a8,  1750;  June  16,  Dec 
la,  1751,  etc. 


332  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  v. 

me,  ten  leagues  from  Paris,  I  find  increased  privation  and  constant 
complaints.  What  must  it  be  in  our  wretched  provinces  in  the 
interior  of  the  kingdom?  .  .  .  My  curate  tells  me  that  eight 
families,  supporting  themselves  on  their  labor  when  I  left,  are  now 
begging  their  bread.  There  is  no  work  to  be  had.  The  wealthy 
are  economizing  like  the  poor.  And  with  all  this  the  faille  is 
exacted  with  military  severity.  The  collectors,  with  their  officers, 
accompanied  by  locksmiths,  force  open  the  doors  and  carry  off 
and  sell  furniture  for  one-quarter  of  its  value,  the  expenses  ex- 
ceeding the  amount  of  the  tax.  .  .  ."  "  I  am  at  this  moment  on 
my  estates  in  Touraine.  I  encounter  nothing  but  frightful  priva- 
tions; the  melancholy  sentiment  of  suffering  no  longer  prevails 
with  the  poor  inhabitants  but  rather  one  of  utter  despair ;  they 
desire  death  only  and  avoid  increase.  ...  It  is  estimated  that 
one-quarter  of  the  working-days  of  the  year  go  to  the  corvees,  the 
laborers  feeding  themselves,  and  with  what  ?  .  .  .  I  see  poor  peo- 
ple dying  of  destitution.  They  are  paid  fifteen  sous  a  day,  equal 
to  a  crown,  for  their  load.  Whole  villages  are  either  ruined  or 
broken  up,  and  none  of  the  households  recover.  .  .  .  Judging  by 
what  my  neighbors  tell  me  the  inhabitants  have  diminished  one- 
third.  .  .  .  The  daily  laborers  are  all  leaving  and  taking  refuge  in 
the  small  towns.  In  many  villages  everybody  leaves.  I  have 
several  parishes  in  which  the  faille  for  three  years  is  due,  the  pro- 
ceedings for  its  collection  always  going  on.  .  .  .  The  receivers  of 
the  faille  and  of  the  fisc  add  one-half  each  year  in  expenses  above 
the  tax.  .  .  .  An  assessor,  on  coming  to  the  village  where  I  have 
my  country-house,  states  that  the  faille  this  year  will  be  much  in- 
creased; he  noticed  that  the  peasants  here  were  fatter  than  else- 
where ;  that  they  had  chicken  feathers  before  their  doors,  and  that 
the  living  here  must  be  good,  everybody  doing  well,  etc.  This  is 
the  cause  of  the  peasant's  discouragement,  and  likewise  the  cause 
of  misfortune  throughout  the  kingdom."  "  In  the  country  where 
I  am  staying  I  hear  that  marriage  is  declining  and  that  the  pop- 
ulation is  decreasing  on  all  sides.  In  my  parish,  with  a  few  fire- 
sides, there  are  more  than  thirty  single  persons,  male  and  female, 
old  enough  to  marry  and  none  of  them  having  any  idea  of  it. 
On  being  urged  to  marry  they  all  reply  alike  that  it  is  not  worth 
while  to  bring  unfortunate  beings  like  themselves  into  the  world. 
I  have  myself  tried  to  induce  some  of  the  women  to  marry  by 
offering  them  assistance,  but  they  all  reason  in  this  way  as  if  they 


CHAi.i.  THE  PEOPLE.  333 

had  consulted  together."  *  "  One  of  my  curates  sends  me  word 
that,  although  he  is  the  oldest  in  the  province  of  Touraine,  and 
has  seen  many  things,  including  excessively  high  prices  for  wheat, 
he  remembers  no  misery  so  great  as  that  of  this  year,  even  in 
1709.  .  .  .  Some  of  the  seigniors  of  Touraine  inform  me  that, 
being  desirous  of  setting  the  inhabitants  to  work  by  the  day,  they 
found  very  few  of  them  and  these  so  weak  that  they  were  unable 
to  use  their  arms." 

Those  who  are  able  to  leave,  emigrate.  "A  person  from  Lan- 
guedoc  tells  me  of  vast  numbers  of  peasants  deserting  that  prov- 
ince and  taking  refuge  in  Piedmont,  Savoy,  and  Spain,  tormented 
and  frightened  by  the  measures  resorted  to  in  collecting  tithes. 
.  .  .  The  extortioners  sell  everything  and  imprison  everybody  as 
if  prisoners  of  war,  and  even  with  more  avidity  and  malice  in 
order  to  gain  something  themselves."  "  I  met  an  intendant  of 
one  of  the  finest  provinces  in  the  kingdom,  who  told  me  that  no 
more  farmers  could  be  found  there ;  that  parents  preferred  to  send 
their  children  to  the  towns ;  that  living  in  the  surrounding  country 
was  daily  becoming  more  horrible  to  the  inhabitants.  ...  A 
man,  well-informed  in  financial  matters,  told  me  that  over  two 
hundred  families  in  Normandy  had  left  this  year,  fearing  the  col- 
lections in  their  villages."  At  Paris,  "the  streets  swarm  with 
beggars.  One  cannot  stop  before  a  door  without  a  dozen  men- 
dicants besetting  him  with  their  importunities.  They  are  said  to 
be  people  from  the  country  who,  unable  to  endure  the  persecu- 
tions they  have  to  undergo,  take  refuge  in  the  cities  .  .  .  prefer- 
ring mendicity  to  labor."  And  yet  the  people  of  the  cities  are 
not  much  better  off.  "  An  officer  of  a  company  in  garrison  at 
Mezieres  tells  me  that  the  poverty  of  that  place  is  so  great  that, 
after  the  officers  had  dined  in  the  inns,  the  people  rush  in  and  pil- 
lage the  remnants."  "There  are  more  than  twelve  thousand  beg- 
ging workmen  in  Rouen,  quite  as  many  in  Tours,  etc.  More 
than  twenty  thousand  of  these  workmen  are  estimated  as  having 
left  the  kingdom  in  three  months  for  Spain,  Germany,  etc.  At 
Lyons  twenty  thousand  workers  in  silk  are  watched  and  kept  in 
sight  for  fear  of  their  going  abroad."  At  Rouen,2  and  in  Nor- 
mandy, l<  those  in  easy  circumstances  find  it  difficult  to  get  bread, 

1  D'Argenson,  June  21,  1749;  May  22,  1750;   March  19,  1751;  February  14,  April  i$. 
1752,  etc. 
*  Floquet,  ibid.  VII.  410  (April,  1752,  an  address  to  the  Parliament  of  No  -nandy). 


334  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  v. 

the  bulk  of  the  people  being  entirely  without  it,  and,  to  ward  off 
starvation,  providing  themselves  with  food  that  shocks  humanity." 
"  Even  at  Paris,"  writes  d'Argenson,1 "  I  learn  that  on  the  day  M. 
le  Dauphin  and  Mme.  la  Dauphine  went  to  Notre  Dame,  on  pass- 
ing the  bridge  of  the  Tournelle,  more  than  two  thousand  women 
assembled  in  that  quarter  crying  out, '  Give  us  bread,  or  we  shall 
die  of  hunger.'  ...  A  vicar  of  the  parish  of  Saint- Marguerite 
affirms  that  over  eight  hur  dred  persons  died  in  the  faubourg  St. 
Antoine  between  January  aoth  and  February  2oth ;  that  the  poor 
expire  with  cold  and  hunger  in  their  garrets,  and  that  the  priests, 
arriving  too  late,  see  them  expire  without  any  possible  relief." 
Were  I  to  enumerate  the  riots,  the  seditions  of  the  famished,  and 
the  pillagings  of  storehouses,  I  should  never  end ;  these  are  the 
convulsive  twitchings  of  exhaustion;  the  people  have  fasted  as 
long  as  possible,  and  instinct,  at  last,  rebels.  In  I747,2  "exten- 
sive bread-riots  occur  in  Toulouse,  and  in  Guyenne  they  take 
place  on  every  market-day."  In  1750,  from  six  to  seven  thousand 
men  gather  in  Beam  behind  a  river  to  resist  the  clerks ;  two 
companies  of  the  Artois  regiment  fire  on  the  rebels  and  kill  a 
dozen  of  them.  In  1752,  a  sedition  at  Rouen  and  in  its  neigh- 
borhood lasts  three  days;  in  Dauphiny  and  in  Auvergne  riotous 
villagers  force  open  the  grain  warehouses  and  take  away  wheat  at 
their  own  price ;  the  same  year,  at  Aries,  two  thousand  armed 
peasants  demand  bread  at  the  town-hall  and  are  dispersed  by  the 
soldiers.  In  one  province  alone,  that  of  Normandy,  I  find  insurrec- 
tions in  1725,  in  1737,  in  1739,  in  1752,  in  1764,  1765,  1766,  1767 
and  i768,3  and  always  on  account  of  bread.  "Entire  hamlets," 
writes  the  Parliament,  "being  without  the  necessities  of  life,  want 
compels  them  to  resort  to  the  food  of  brutes.  .  .  .  Two  days 
more  and  Rouen  will  be  without  provisions,  without  grain,  with- 
out bread."  Accordingly,  the  last  riot  is  terrible ;  on  this  occa- 
sion, the  populace,  again  masters  of  the  town  for  three  days,  pil- 
lage the  public  granaries  and  the  stores  of  all  the  communities. 
Up  to  the  last  and  even  later,  in  1770  at  Rheims,  in  1775  at  Dijon, 
at  Versailles,  at  St.  Germain,  at  Pontoise  and  at  Paris,  in  1772  at 
Poitiers,  in  1785  at  Aix  in  Provence,  in  1788  and  1789  in  Paris 
and  throughout  France,  similar  eruptions  are  visible.4  Undoubt- 

1  D'Argenson,  November  26,  1751;  March  15,  1753. 

*  D'Argenson,  IV.  124;  VI.  165;  VII.  194,  etc. 

*  Floquet,  ibid.  VI.  400-430 

*  "Correspondence,"  by  M£tra,  I.  338,  341.     Hippsau,  "Le  Gouvernemeat  d«  Xoimaa- 
*«."  IV.  fe,  199,  2* 


CHAP.  I.  THE  PEOPLE  335 

edly  the  government  under  Louis  XVI.  is  milder ;  tne  intendants 
are  more  humane,  the  administration  is  less  rigid,  the  faille  be- 
comes less  unequal,  and  the  corvee  is  less  onerous  through  its 
transformation,  in  short,  misery  has  diminished,  and  yet  this  is 
greater  than  human  nature  can  bear. 

Examine  administrative  correspondence  for  the  last  thirty 
years  preceding  the  Revolution.  Countless  statements  reveal 
excessive  suffering,  even  when  not  terminating  in  fury.  Life  to 
i  man  of  the  lower  class,  to  an  artisan,  or  workman,  subsisting 
on  the  labor  of  his  own  hands,  is  evidently  precarious ;  he  ob- 
tains simply  enough  to  keep  him  from  starvation  and  he  does 
not  always  get  that.1  Here,  in  four  districts,  "the  inhabitants 
live  only  on  buckwheat,"  and  for  five  years,  the  apple  crop  hav- 
ing failed,  they  drink  only  water.  There,  in  a  country  of  vine- 
yards,2 "the  vine-dressers  each  year  are  reduced,  for  the  most 
part,  to  begging  their  bread  during  the  dull  season."  Elsewhere, 
several  of  the  day-laborers  and  mechanics,  obliged  to  sell  their 
effects  and  household  goods,  die  of  the  cold ;  insufficient  and  un- 
healthy food  generates  sickness,  while,  in  two  districts,  thirty-five 
thousand  persons  are  stated  to  be  living  on  alms.3  In  a  remote 
canton  the  peasants  cut  the  grain  still  green  and  dry  it  in  the 
oven,  because  they  are  too  hungry  to  wait.  The  intendant  of 
Poitiers  writes  that  "  as  soon  as  the  workhouses  open,  a  prodig- 
ious number  of  the  poor  rush  to  them,  in  spite  of  the  reduction 
of  wages  and  of  the  restrictions  imposed  on  them  in  behalf  of  the 
most  needy."  The  intendant  of  Bourges  notices  that  a  great 
many  m6tayers  have  sold  off"  their  furniture  and  that  "entire 
families  pass  two  days  without  eating,"  and  that  in  many  par- 
ishes the  famished  stay  in  bed  most  of  the  day  because  they  suf- 
fer less.  The  intendant  of  Orleans  reports  that  "in  Sologne, 
poor  widows  have  burned  up  their  wooden  bedsteads  and  others 
have  consumed  their  fruit  trees,"  to  preserve  themselves  from 
the  cold,  and  he  adds,  "nothing  is  exaggerated  in  this  statement ; 
the  cries  of  want  cannot  be  expressed;  the  misery  of  the  rural 

1  "Proces-verbaux  de  1'assemblee  provinciale  de  Basse  Normandie"  (1787),  p.  151. 

•Archives  nationales,  G,  319.  Condition  of  the  directory  of  Issoudun,  and  H,  1149, 
612,  1418. 

8  Ibid.  The  letters  of  M.  de  Crosne,  intendant  of  Rouen  (February  17,  1784) ;  of  M.  da 
Blossac,  intendant  of  Poitiers  (May  9,  1784);  of  M.  de  Villeneuve,  intendant  of  Bourges 
(March  28,  1784);  of  M.  de  Cypierre,  intendant  of  Orleans  (May  28,  1784);  of  M.  I'M 
Maziron,  intendant  of  Moulins  (June  28>  -786)  '•  of  M-  Dupont,  intendant  of  Moulin?  |Ner 
«,  1779),  etc. 


336  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  v 

districts  must  be  seen  with  one's  own  eyes  to  obtain  an  idea  of 
it."  From  Rioni,  from  La  Rochelle,  from  Limoges,  from  Lyons, 
from  Montauban,  from  Caen,  from  Alen9on,  from  Flanders,  from 
Moulins  come  similar  statements  by  other  intendants.  One 
might  call  it  the  interruptions  and  repetitions  of  a  funeral  knell ; 
even  in  years  not  disastrous  it  is  heard  on  all  sides.  In  Bur- 
gundy, near  Chatillon-sur-Seine,  "taxes,  seigniorial  dues,  the 
tithes,  and  the  expenses  of  cultivation,  divide  up  the  productions 
of  the  soil  into  thirds,  leaving  nothing  for  the  unfortunate  culti- 
vators, who  would  have  abandoned  their  fields,  had  not  two 
Swiss  manufacturers  of  calicoes  settled  there  and  distributed 
about  the  country  forty  thousand  francs  a  year  in  cash." l  In 
Auvergne,  the  country  is  depopulated  daily ;  many  of  the  villages 
have  lost,  since  the  beginning  of  the  century,  more  than  one- 
third  of  their  inhabitants.2  "  Had  not  steps  been  promptly  taken 
to  lighten  the  burden  of  a  down-trodden  people,"  says  the  pro- 
vincial assembly  in  1787,  "Auvergne  would  have  forever  lost  its 
population  and  its  cultivation."  In  Comminges,  at  the  outbreak 
of  the  Revolution,  certain  communities  threaten  to  abandon  their 
possessions,  should  they  obtain  no  relief.3  "It  is  a  well-known 
fact,"  says  the  assembly  of  Haute- Guy enne,  in  1784,  "that  the  lot 
of  the  most  severely  taxed  communities  is  so  rigorous  as  to  have 
led  their  proprietors  frequently  to  abandon  their  property.4  Who 
is  not  aware  of  the  inhabitants  of  Saint-Servin  having  abandoned 
their  possessions  ten  times  and  of  their  threats  to  resort  again  to 
this  painful  proceeding  in  their  recourse  to  the  administration  ? 
Only  a  few  years  ago  an  abandonment  of  the  community  of 
Boisse  took  place  through  the  combined  action  of  the  inhabit- 
ants, the  seignior  and  the  dtcimateur  of  that  community;"  and 
the  desertion  would  be  still  greater  if  the  law  did  not  forbid  per- 
sons liable  to  the  faille  abandoning  over-taxed  property,  except 
by  renouncing  whatever  they  possessed  in  the  community.  In 
the  Soissonais,  according  to  the  report  of  the  provincial  assem- 
bly,5 "misery  is  excessive."  In  Gascony  the  spectacle  is  "heart- 

1  Archives  nationales,  H,  200  (A  memorial  by  M.  Amelot,  in  ten  dan  t  at  Dijon,  1786). 

*  Gautier  de  Bianzat,  "Dol6ances  sur  les  surcharges  que  portent  les  gens  du  Tiers-Etat," 
etc.  (1789),  p.  188.     "Proces-verbaux  de  I'assemblde  provinciale  d"  Auvergne"  (1787),  p.  175. 

1  TheYon  de  Montauge',  "  L' Agriculture  et  les  chores  rurales  dans  le  Toulousain,"  112. 

*  "Proces-verbaux  de  1'assemblee  provinciale  de  la  Haute-Guyenne,"  I.  47,  79. 

'  "Proces-verbaux  de  1' assemble  provinciale  du  Soissonais"  (1787),  p.  857;  "de  I'assaa 
hlee  pro-  uiciale  d'Auci,"  p.  34. 


CHAP.  I.  THE  PEOPLE.  337 

rending."  In  th »  environs  of  Toule,  the  cultivator,  after  paying 
his  taxes,  tithes  and  other  dues,  remains  empty-handed.  "Agri- 
culture is  an  occupation  of  steady  anxiety  and  privation,  in  which 
thousands  of  men  are  obliged  to  painfully  vegetate." l  In  a  vil- 
lage in  Normandy,  "nearly  all  the  inhabitants,  not  excepting  the 
farmers  and  proprietors,  eat  barley  bread  and  drink  water,  living 
like  the  most  wretched  of  men,  so  as  to  provide  for  the  payment 
of  the  taxes  with  which  they  are  overburdened."  In  the  same 
province,  at  Forges,  "many  poor  creatures  eat  oat  bread,  and 
others  bread  of  soaked  bran,  this  nourishment  causing  many 
deaths  among  infants."  2  People  evidently  live  from  day  to  day ; 
whenever  the  crop  proves  poor  they  lack  bread.  Let  a  frost 
come,  a  hailstorm,  an  inundation,  and  an  entire  province  is  inca- 
pable of  supporting  itself  until  the  coming  year ;  in  many  places 
even  an  ordinary  winter  suffices  to  bring  on  distress.  On  all 
sides  hands  are  seen  outstretched  to  the  king,  who  is  the  univer- 
sal almoner.  The  people  may  be  said  to  resemble  a  man  at- 
tempting to  wade  through  a  pool  with  the  water  up  to  his  chin, 
and  who,  losing  his  footing  at  the  slightest  depression,  sinks 
down  and  drowns.  Existent  charity  and  the  fresh  spirit  of  hu- 
manity vainly  strive  to  rescue  them;  the  water  has  risen  too 
high.  It  must  subside  to  a  lower  level  and  the  pool  be  drawn 
off  through  some  adequate  outlet.  Thus  far  the  poor  man 
catches  breath  only  at  intervals,  running  the  risk  of  drowning  at 
every  moment 

II. 

Between  1750,  and  1760,'  the  idlers  who  eat  suppers  begin  to 
regard  with  compassion  and  alarm  the  laborers  who  go  without 
dinners.  Why  are  the  latter  so  impoverished,  and  by  what  mis- 
chance, on  a  soil  as  rich  as  that  of  France,  do  those  lack  bread 
who  grow  the  grain?  In  the  first  place  many  farms  remain  un- 
cultivated, and,  what  is  worse,  many  are  deserted.  According 
to  the  best  observers  "one-quarter  of  the  soil  is  absolutely  lying 
waste ;  .  .  .  Hundreds  and  hundreds  of  arpents  of  heath  and 
moor  form  extensive  deserts."4  "Let  a  person  traverse  Anjou, 

1  "Resum6  des  cahiers,"  by  Prud'homme,  III.  271. 

*  Hippeau,  Had.  VI.  74,  243  (Complaints  drawn  up  by  the  Chevalier  de  Berlin). 
3  See  the  article  "Fermiers  et  Grains,"  in  the  Encyclopedia,  by  Quesnay,  1758. 
*Theion  de  Montaug6,  p.  25.     "  Eph^me'rides  du  titoyen,''  III.  190  (1766);  IX  15  (am 
article  by  M.  de  Butr6,  1767) 


338  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  v. 

Maine,  Brittany,  Poitou,  Limousin,  la  Marcre,  Berry,  Nivernais, 
Bourbonnais  and  Auvergne,  and  he  finds  one-half  of  these 
provinces  in  heaths,  forming  immense  plains  all  of  which  might 
be  cultivated."  In  Touraine,  in  Poitou  and  in  Berry  they  form 
solitary  expanses  of  thirty  thousand  arpents.  In  one  canton 
alone,  near  Preuilly,  forty  thousand  arpents  of  good  soil  consist 
of  heath.  The  agricultural  society  of  Rennes  declares  that  two- 
thirds  of  Brittany  is  lying  waste.  This  is  not  sterility  but  deca- 
dence. The  regime  invented  by  Louis  XIV.  has  produced  its 
effect ;  the  soil  for  a  century  past,  is  reverting  back  to  a  wild  state. 
"We  see  only  abandoned  and  ruinous  chateaux;  the  principal 
towns  of  the  fiefs,  in  which  the  nobility  formerly  lived  at  their 
ease,  are  all  now  occupied  by  poor  metayer  herdsmen  whose 
scanty  labor  hardly  suffices  for  their  subsistence  and  a  remnant 
of  tax  ready  to  disappear  through  the  ruin  of  the  proprietors 
and  the  desertion  of  the  settlers."  In  the  election -district  of 
Confolens  a  piece  of  property  rented  for  2,956  livres  in  1665, 
brings  in  only  900  livres  in  1747.  On  the  confines  of  la  Marche 
and  of  Berry  a  domain  which,  in  1660,  honorably  supported  two 
seigniorial  families  is  now  simply  a  small  unproductive  m6tayer- 
farm ;  "  the  traces  of  the  furrows  once  made  by  the  ploughshare 
being  still  visible  on  the  surrounding  heaths."  Sologne,  once 
flourishing,1  becomes  a  marsh  and  a  forest;  a  hundred  years 
earlier  it  produced  three  times  the  quantity  of  grain ;  two-thirds 
of  its  mills  are  gone;  not  a  vestige  of  its  vineyards  remains; 
"grapes  have  given  way  to  the  heath."  Thus  abandoned  by 
the  spade  and  the  plough,  a  vast  portion  of  the  soil  ceases  to 
feed  man,  while  the  rest,  poorly  cultivated,  scarcely  provides  the 
simplest  necessities.2 

In  the  first  place,  on  the  failure  of  a  crop,  this  portion  remains 
unfilled;  its  occupant  is  too  poor  to  purchase  seed;  the  intendant 
is  often  obliged  to  distribute  seed,  without  which  the  disaster  of 
the  current  year  would  be  followed  by  sterility  the  following  year.' 
Every  calamity,  accordingly,  in  these  days  affects  the  future  as 

1  "  Proces-verbaux  de  I'assemble'e  provindale  de  1'Orleanais"  (1787),  in  a  memoir  by  M. 
d'Autroche. 

*  One  is  surprised  to  see  so  many  supported  where  one-half,  or  one-quarter  of  the  arable 
ground  is  sterile  wastes.- -ARTHUR  YOUNG. 

*  Archives  nationales,  H,  1149.      A  letter  of  the  Comtesse  de  Saint-Georges  (1772)  on 
the  effects  of  frost     "  The  ground  this  year  will  remain  uncultivated,  there  being  already 
much  land  in  this  condition  and  especially  in  our  parish."    The'ron  de  Montauge,  ibid.  45,  8» 


CHAP.  r.  THE  PEOPLE.  33$ 

well  as  the  present;  during  the  two  years  of  1784  and  1785, 
around  Toulouse,  the  drought  having  caused  the  loss  of  all  draft 
animals,  many  of  the  cultivators  are  obliged  to  let  their  fields  lie 
fallow.  In  the  second  place,  cultivation,  when  it  does  take  place, 
is  carried  on  according  to  mediaeval  modes.  Arthur  Young,  in 
1789,  considers  that  French  agriculture  has  not  progressed  be- 
yond that  of  the  tenth  century.1  Except  in  Flanders  and  on  the 
plains  of  Alsace,  the  fields  lie  fallow  one  year  out  of  three  and 
oftentimes  one  year  out  of  two.  The  implements  are  poor; 
there  are  no  ploughs  made  of  iron;  in  many  places  the  plough 
of  Virgil's  time  is  still  in  use.  Cart-axles  and  wheel-tires  are 
made  of  wood,  while  a  harrow  often  consists  of  the  trestle  of  a 
cart.  There  are  few  animals  and  but  little  manure ;  the  capital 
bestowed  on  cultivation  is  three  times  less  than  that  of  the  present 
day.  The  yield  is  slight:  "our  ordinary  farms,"  says  a  good 
observer,  "taking  one  with  another  return  about  six  times  the  seed 
sown."2  In  1778,  on  the  rich  soil  around  Toulouse,  wheat  returns 
about  five  for  one,  while  at  the  present  day  it  yields  eight  to  one 
and  more.  Arthur  Young  estimates  that,  in  his  day,  the  English 
acre  produces  twenty-eight  bushels  of  grain,  and  the  French 
acre  eighteen  bushels,  and  that  the  value  of  the  total  product  of 
the  same  area  for  a  given  length  of  time  is  thirty-six  pounds 
sterling  in  England  and  only  twenty-five  in  France.  As  the 
parish  roads  are  frightful,  and  transportation  often  impracticable, 
it  is  clear  that,  in  remote  cantons,  where  poor  soil  yields  scarcely 
three  times  the  seed  sown,  food  is  not  always  obtainable.  How 
do  they  manage  to  live  until  the  next  crop  ?  This  is  the  ques- 
tion always  under  consideration  previous  to,  and  during,  the 
Revolution.  I  find,  in  manuscript  correspondence,  the  syndics 
and  mayors  of  villages  estimating  the  quantities  for  local  subsist- 
ence at  so  many  bushels  in  the  granaries,  so  many  sheaves  in  the 
barns,  so  many  mouths  to  be  filled,  so  many  days  to  wait  until 
the  August  wheat  comes  in,  and  concluding  on  short  supplies  for 
two,  three  and  four  months.  Such  a  state  of  inter-communica- 
tion and  of  agriculture  condemns  a  country  to  periodical  famines, 
and  I  venture  to  state  that,  alongside  of  the  small-pox  which, 
out  of  eight  deaths,  causes  one,  another  endemic  disease  exists, 
as  prevalent  and  as  destructive,  and  this  disease  is  starvation. 

1  Arthur  Young,  II.  112,  115.     The'ron  de  Mor.taug6,  52,  61. 
*  The  Marquis  de  Mirabeau,  "  Trait e  de  la  popi  lation, '  p.  39. 


340  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  v, 

We  can  easily  imagine  the  people  as  sufferers  by  it  and, 
especially,  the  peasant.  An  advance  in  the  price  of  bread 
prevents  him  from  getting  any,  and  even  without  that  advance, 
he  obtains  it  with  difficulty.  Wheat  bread  cost,  as  at  the  present 
day,  three  sous  per  pound,1  but  as  the  average  day's  work 
brought  only  nineteen  sous  instead  of  forty,  the  day-laborer, 
working  the  same  time,  could  buy  only  the  half  of  a  loaf  instead 
of  a  full  loaf.8  Taking  everything  into  account,  and  wages  being 
estimated  according  to  the  price  of  grain,  we  find  that  the 
husbandman's  manual  labor  then  procured  him  959  litres  of 
wheat,  while  nowadays  it  gives  him  1,851  litres  ;  his  well-being, 
accordingly,  has  advanced  ninety-three  per  cent.,  which  suffices 
to  show  to  what  extent  his  predecessors  suffered  privations.  And 
these  privations  are  peculiar  to  France.  Through  analogous 
observations  and  estimates  Arthur  Young  shows  that  in  France 
those  who  lived  on  field  labor,  and  they  constituted  the  great 
majority,  are  seventy-six  per  cent,  less  comfortable  than  the  same 
laborers  in  England,  while  they  are  seventy-six  per  cent,  less  well 
fed  and  well  clothed,  besides  being  worse  treated  in  sickness  and 
in  health.  The  result  is  that,  in  seven-eighths  of  the  kingdom, 
there  are  no  farmers  but  simply  m6tayers.8  The  peasant  is  too 
poor  to  undertake  cultivation  on  his  own  account,  possessing  no 
agricultural  capital.4  "The  proprietor,  desirous  of  improving 
his  land,  finds  no  one  to  cultivate  it  but  miserable  creatures  pos- 
sessing only  a  pair  of  hands ;  he  is  obliged  to  advance  everything 
for  its  cultivation  at  his  own  expense,  animals,  implements  and 
seed,  and  even  to  advance  the  wherewithal  to  this  metayer  to 
feed  him  until  the  first  crop  comes  in."  "At  Vatan,  for  example, 
in  Berry,  the  metayers,  almost  every  year,  borrow  bread  of  the 
proprietor  in  order  to  await  the  harvesting."  "Very  rarely  is 
one  found  who  is  not  indebted  to  his  master  at  least  one  hundred 
livres  a  year."  Frequently  the  latter  proposes  to  abandon  the 
entire  crop  to  them  on  condition  that  they  demand  nothing  of 
him  during  the  year ;  "  these  miserable  creatures  "  have  refused ; 

1  Cf.  Galiani,  "Dialogues  sur  le  commerce  des  bio's "  (1770),  p.  193.  Wheat  bread  at  this 
time  cost  four  sous  per  pound. 

1  Arthur  Young,  II.  200,  201,  260-265.    The'ron  de  Montaug£,  59,  68,  75,  79,  81,  84. 

*  "  The  poor  people  who  cultivate  the  soil  here  are  mttayers,  that  is,  men  who  hire  th« 
land  without  ability  to  stock  it ;  the  proprietor  is  farced  to  provide  cattle  and  seed  and  h« 
mad  his  tenants  divide  the  produce." — ARTHUR  YOUNG. 

"  Eph&n&ides  du  citoyen,"  VI.  81-94  (1767),  and  IX,  99  (1767). 


CHAT,  i.  THE  PEOPLE.  341 

left  to  themselves,  they  would  not  be  sure  of  keeping  themselves 
alive.  In  Limousin  and  in  Angoumois  their  poverty  is  so  great1 
"  that,  deducting  the  taxes  to  which  they  are  subject,  they  have 
no  more  than  from  twenty-five  to  thirty  livres  each  person  per 
annum  to  spend ;  and  not  in  money,  it  must  be  stated,  but  count- 
ing whatever  they  consume  in  kind  out  of  the  crops  they 
produce.  Frequently  they  have  less,  and  when  they  cannot 
possibly  make  a  living  the  master  is  obliged  to  support  them. 
.  .  .  The  me'tayer  is  always  reduced  to  just  what  is  absolutely 
necessary  to  keep  him  from  starving."  As  to  the  small  proprie- 
tor, the  villager  who  ploughs  his  land  himself,  his  condition  is 
but  little  better.  "  Agriculture,2  as  our  peasants  practise  it,  is  a 
veritable  drudgery;  they  die  by  thousands  in  childhood,  and  in 
maturity  they  seek  places  everywhere  but  where  they  should 
be."  In  1783,  throughout  the  plain  of  the  Toulousain  they  eat 
only  maize,  a  mixture  of  flour,  common  seeds  and  very  little 
wheat;  those  on  the  mountains  feed,  a  part  of  the  year,  on 
chestnuts ;  the  potato  is  hardly  known,  and,  according  to  Arthur 
Young,  ninety-nine  out  of  a  hundred  peasants  would  refuse  to 
eat  it.  According  to  the  reports  of  intendants,  the  basis  of  food, 
in  Normandy,  is  oats ;  in  the  election-district  of  Troyes,  buck- 
wheat; in  the  Marche  and  in  Limousin,  buckwheat  with  chestnuts 
and  radishes ;  in  Auvergne,  buckwheat,  chestnuts,  milk-curds  and 
a  little  salted  goat's  meat;  in  Beauce,  a  mixture  of  barley  and 
rye ;  in  Berry,  a  mixture  of  barley  and  oats.  There  is  no  wheat 
bread;  the  peasant  consumes  inferior  flour  only  because  he  is 
unable  to  pay  two  sous  a  pound  for  his  bread.  There  is  no 
butcher's  meat;  at  best  he  kills  one  pig  a  year  His  dwelling  is 
built  of  clay  (pise),  roofed  with  thatch,  without  windows,  and  the 
floor  is  the  beaten  ground.  Even  when  the  soil  furnishes  good 
building  materials,  stone,  slate  and  tile,  the  windows  have  no 
sashes.  In  a  parish  in  Normandy,  in  1789,  "most  of  the  dwell- 
ings consist  of  four  posts."  They  are  often  mere  stables  or 
barns  "  to  which  a  chimney  has  been  added  made  of  four  poles 
and  some  mud."  Their  clothes  are  rags,  and  often,  in  winter 
these  are  muslin  rags.  In  Quercy  and  elsewhere,  they  have  no 
stockings,  or  shoes  or  sabots  (wooden  shoes).  "  It  is  not  in  the 
power  of  an  English  imagination,"  says  Arthur  Young,  "to  figure 

1  Turgot,  "  Collections  des  £conomistes,"  I.  544,  549. 
*  Marquis  de  Mirabeau,  "Trait6  de  la  population,"  83. 
29* 


342  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOJCY. 

the  animals  that  waited  on  us  here  at  the  Chapeau  Rouge 
Some  things  that  called  themselves  by  courtesy  Souillac  women, 
but  in  reality  walking  dung-hills.  But  a  neatly  dressed,  clean 
waiting-girl  at  an  inn,  will  be  looked  for  in  vain  in  France." 
On  reading  descriptions  made  on  the  spot  we  see  in  France  a 
similar  aspect  of  country  and  of  peasantry  as  in  Ireland,  at  least 
in  its  broad  outlines. 

III. 

In  the  most  fertile  regions,  for  instance,  in  Limagne,  both  cot- 
tages and  faces  denote  "  misery  and  privation." 1  "  The  peasants 
are  generally  feeble,  emaciated  and  of  slight  stature."  Nearlyallde- 
rive  wheat  and  wine  from  their  homesteads  but  they  are  forced  to  sell 
this  to  pay  their  rents  and  imposts;  they  eat  black  bread,  made 
of  rye  and  barley,  and  their  sole  beverage  is  water  poured  on  the 
lees  and  the  husks.  "  An  Englishman  2  who  has  not  travelled  can 
not  imagine  the  figure  made  by  infinitely  the  greater  part  of  the 
countrywomen  in  France."  Arthur  Young,  who  stops  to  talk 
with  one  of  these  in  Champagne,  says  that  "  this  woman,  at  no 
great  distance,  might  have  been  taken  for  sixty  or  seventy,  her  fig- 
ure was  so  bent  and  her  face  so  hardened  and  furrowed  by  labor, — 
but  she  said  she  was  only  twenty-eight."  This  woman,  her  hus- 
band and  her  household,  afford  a  sufficiently  accurate  example  of 
the  condition  of  the  small  proprietary  husbandmen.  Their  property 
consists  simply  of  a  patch  of  ground,  with  a  cow  and  a  poor  little 
horse ;  their  seven  children  consume  the  whole  of  the  cow's  milk. 
They  owe  to  one  seignior  &franchard  (forty-two  pounds)  of  flour, 
and  three  chickens ;  to  another  \hreefranchards  of  oats,  one  chicken 
and  one  sou,  to  which  must  be  added  the  faille  and  other  imposts. 
"  God  keep  us ! "  she  said,  "  for  the  failles  and  the  dues  crush  us." 
What  must  it  be  in  districts  where  the  soil  is  poor !  "  From  Ormes, 
(near  Chatellerault),  as  far  as  Poitiers,"  writes  a  lady,3  "  there  is  a 
good  deal  of  ground  which  brings  in  nothing,  and  from  Poitiers 
to  my  residence  (in  Limousin)  twenty-five  thousand  argents  of 
ground  consist  wholly  of  heath  and  sea-grass.  The  peasantry  live 
on  rye,  of  which  they  do  not  remove  the  bran,  and  which  is  as  black 
and  heavy  as  lead.  In  Poitou,  and  here,  they  plough  up  only  the 

1  Dulau  e,  "Description  de  1'Auvergne,"  1789. 

1  Arthur  You*ig,  I.  235. 
*  "  Ephe'me'ride*  du  citoyen,"  XX.  146,  a  letter  of  the  Marquis  de ,  August  17,  1767. 


Ciup.  i.  THE  PEOPLE.  343 

skin  of  the  ground  with  a  miserable  little  plough  without  wheels.  .  .  . 
From  Poitiers  to  Montmorillon  it  is  nine  leagues,  equal  to  sixteen 
of  Paris,  and  I  assure  you  that  I  have  seen  but  four  men  on  the 
road  and,  between  Montmorillon  and  my  own  house,  which  is 
four  leagues,  but  three ;  and  then  only  at  a  distance,  not  having 
met  one  on  the  road.  You  need  not  be  surprised  at  this  in  such 
a  country.  .  .  .  Marriage  takes  place  as  early  as  with  the  grand 
seigniors,"  doubtless  for  fear  of  the  militia.  "  But  the  population  of 
the  country  is  no  greater  because  almost  every  infant  dies.  Mothers 
having  scarcely  any  milk,  their  infants  eat  the  bread  of  which  I 
spoke,  the  stomach  of  agirlof  four  years  being  as  big  as  that  of  a  preg- 
nant woman.  .  .  .  The  rye  crop  this  year  was  ruined  by  the  frost 
on  Easter  day ;  flour  is  scarce ;  of  the  twelve  mttairies  owned  by 
my  mother,  four  of  them  may,  perhaps,  have  some  on  hand. 
There  has  been  no  rain  since  Easter ;  no  hay,  no  pasture,  no  veg- 
etables, no  fruit.  You  see  the  lot  of  the  poor  peasant.  There  is 
no  manure,  and  there  are  no  cattle.  .  .  .  My  mother,  whose  gran- 
aries used  to  be  always  full,  has  not  a  grain  of  wheat  in  them, 
because,  for  two  years  past,  she  has  fed  all  her  metayers  and  the 
poor." 

"  The  peasant  is  assisted,"  says  a  seignior  of  the  same  prov- 
ince, "  protected,  and  rarely  maltreated,  but  he  is  looked  upon 
with  disdain.  If  kindly  and  pliable  he  is  made  subservient,  but 
if  ill-disposed  he  becomes  soured  and  irritable.  .  .  .  He  is  kept 
in  miser)',  in  an  abject  state,  by  men  who  are  not  at  all  inhuman 
but  whose  prejudices,  especially  among  the  nobles,  lead  them  to 
regard  him  as  of  a  different  species  of  being.  .  .  .  The  proprie- 
tor gets  all  he  can  out  of  him ;  in  any  event,  looking  upon  him 
and  his  oxen  as  domestic  animals,  he  puts  them  into  harness  and 
employs  them  in  all  weathers  for  every  kind  of  journey,  and  for 
every  species  of  carting  and  transport.  On  the  other  hand,  this 
metayer  thinks  of  living  with  as  little  labor  as  possible,  convert- 
ing as  much  ground  as  he  can  into  pasturage,  for  the  reason  that 
the  product  arising  from  the  increase  of  stock  costs  him  no  labor. 
The  little  ploughing  he  does  is  for  the  purpose  of  raising  low- 
priced  provisions  suitable  for  his  own  nourishment,  such  as 
buckwheat,  radishes,  etc.  His  enjoymer  t  consists  only  of  his 
»wn  idleness  and  sluggishness,  hoping  for  a  good  chestnut  year 
and  doing  nothing  voluntarily  but  procreate ; "  unable  to  hire 
farming  hands  he  begets  children.  The  rest,  ordinary  laborers, 


344  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  T- 

have  small  supplies, "  living  on  the  spontaneous  and  on  a  few  goat* 
which  devour  everything."  Often  again,  thesr,  by  order  of  Par- 
liament, are  killed  by  the  keepers.  A  woman,  with  two  children 
in  swaddling  clothes,  having  no  milk,  "  and  without  an  inch  of 
ground,"  whose  two  goats,  her  sole  resource,  had  thus  been  slain, 
and  another,  with  one  goat  slain  in  the  same  way,  and  who  begs 
along  with  her  boy,  present  themselves  at  the  gate  of  the  chateau ; 
one  receives  twelve  livres,  while  the  other  is  admitted  as  a  domes- 
tic, and  henceforth,  "  this  village  is  all  bows  and  smiling  faces." 
In  short,  they  are  not  accustomed  to  benefactions;  the  lot  of 
all  these  poor  people  is  to  endure.  "  As  with  rain  and  hail,  they  re- 
gard as  inevitable  the  necessity  of  being  oppressed  by  the  strong- 
est, the  richest,  the  most  skilful,  the  most  in  repute,"  and  this 
stamps  on  them,  "  if  one  may  be  allowed  to  say  so,  an  air  of  pain- 
ful suffering." 

In  Auvergne,  a  feudal  country,  covered  with  extensive  ec- 
clesiastic and  seigniorial  domains,  the  misery  is  the  same.  At 
Clermont-Ferrand,1  "  there  are  many  streets  that  can  for  black- 
ness, dirt  and  scents  only  be  represented  by  narrow  chan- 
nels cut  in  a  night  dunghill."  In  the  inns  of  the  largest  bourgs, 
"  closeness,  misery,  dirtiness  and  darkness."  That  of  Pradelles 
is  "one  of  the  worst  in  France."  That  of  Aubenas,  says  Young, 
"  would  be  a  purgatory  for  one  of  my  pigs."  The  senses,  in 
short,  are  paralyzed.  The  primitive  man  is  content  so  long  as  he 
can  sleep  and  get  something  to  eat.  He  gets  something  to  eat, 
but  what  kind  of  food  ?  To  put  up  with  the  indigestible  mess  a 
peasant  here  requires  a  still  tougher  stomach  than  in  Limousin ; 
in  certain  villages  where,  ten  years  later,  every  year  twenty  or 
twenty-five  hogs  are  to  be  slaughtered,  they  now  slaughter  but 
three.2  On  contemplating  this  temperament,  rude  and  intact 
since  Vercinge'torix,  and,  moreover,  rendered  more  savage  by 
suffering,  one  cannot  avoid  being  somewhat  alarmed.  The  Mar- 
quis de  Mirabeau  describes  "the  votive  festival  of  Mont-Dore, 
savages  descending  from  the  mountain  in  torrents,3  the  curate 
with  stole  and  surplice,  the  justice  in  his  wig,  the  police  corps 
with  sabres  drawn,  all  guarding  the  open  square  before  letting 
the  bagpipers  play ;  the  dance  interrupted  in  a  quarter  of  an  how 

•  Arthur  Young,  I.  280,  289,  294. 

*  Lafayette,  "  Memoires,"  V.  533. 

*  Lucas  de  Montigny,  ibid,  (a  letter  of  August  18,  1777). 


=HAP.  i.  THE  PEOPLE.  345 

by  a  fight ;  ihe  hootings  and  cries  of  children,  of  the  feeble  and 
other  spectators,  urging  them  on  as  the  rabble  urge  on  so 
many  fighting  dogs;  frightful-looking  men,  or  rather  wild  beasts 
covered  with  coats  of  coarse  wool,  wearing  wide  leather  belts 
pierced  with  copper  nails,  gigantic  in  stature,  which  is  increased 
by  high  sabots,  and  making  themselves  still  taller  by  standing  on 
tiptoe  to  see  the  battle,  stamping  with  their  feet  as  it  progresses 
and  rubbing  each  other's  flanks  with  their  elbows,  their  faces 
haggard  and  covered  with  long  matted  hair,  the  upper  portion 
pallid,  and  the  lower  distended,  indicative  of  cruel  delight  and  a 
sort  of  ferocious  impatience.  And  these  folks  pay  the  tattle ! 
And  now  they  want  to  take  away  their  salt !  And  they  know 
nothing  of  those  they  despoil,  of  those  whom  they  think  they 
govern,  believing  that,  by  a  few  strokes  of  a  cowardly  and  care- 
less pen,  they  may  starve  them  with  impunity  up  to  the  final 
catastrophe !  Poor  Jean-Jacques,  I  said  to  myself,  had  any  one 
despatched  you,  with  your  system,  to  copy  music  amongst  these 
folks  he  would  have  had  some  sharp  replies  to  make  to  your  dis- 
courses!" Prophetic  warning  and  admirable  foresight  in  one 
whom  an  excess  of  evil  does  not  blind  to  the  evil  of  the  remedy ! 
Enlightened  by  his  feudal  and  rural  instincts,  the  old  man  at 
once  judges  both  the  government  and  the  philosophers,  the  An- 
cient Regime  and  the  Revolution. 

IV. 

Misery  begets  bitterness  in  a  man;  but  ownership  coupled 
with  misery  renders  him  still  more  bitter.  He  may  have 
submitted  to  indigence  but  not  to  spoliation — which  is  the 
situation  of  the  peasant  in  1789,  for,  during  the  eighteenth 
century,  he  had  become  the  possessor  of  land.  But  how  could 
he  maintain  himself  in  such  destitution  ?  The  fact  is  almost  in- 
credible, but  it  is  nevertheless  true.  We  can  only  explain  it  by 
the  character  of  the  French  peasant,  by  his  sobriety,  his  tenacity, 
his  rigor  with  himself,  his  dissimulation,  his  hereditary  passion  for 
property  and  especially  for  that  of  the  soil.  He  had  lived  on 
privations,  and  economized  sou  after  sou.  Every  year  a  few 
pieces  of  silver  are  added  to  his  little  store  of  crowns  buried  in 
the  most  secret  recess  of  his  cellar ;  Rousseau's  peasant,  conceal 
ing  his  wine  and  bread  in  a  pit,  assuredly  had  a  yet  more  secret 
hiding-place;  a  little  money  in  a  woollen  stocking  or  in  a 


346  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  v 

jug  escapes,  more  readily  than  elsewhere,  the  search  of  the 
clerks.  Dressed  in  rags,  going  barefoot,  eating  nothing  but  coarse 
black  bread,  but  cherishing  the  little  treasure  in  his  breast  on 
which  he  builds  so  many  hopes,  he  watches  for  the  opportunity 
which  never  fails  to  come.  "  In  spite  of  privileges,"  writes  a  gen- 
tleman in  1755,  "the  nobles  are  daily  being  ruined  and  reduced, 
the  Third-Estate  making  all  the  fortunes."  A  number  of  do- 
mains, through  forced  or  voluntary  sales,  thus  pass  into  the  hands 
of  financiers,  of  men  of  the  quill,  of  merchants,  and  of  the 
well-to-do  bourgeois.  Before  undergoing  this  total  disposses- 
sion, however,  the  seignior,  involved  in  debt,  is  evidently  re- 
signed to  partial  alienations  of  his  property.  The  peasant  who 
has  bribed  the  steward  is  on  hand  with  his  hoard.  "  It  is  poor 
property,  my  lord,  and  it  costs  you  more  than  you  get  from  it." 
This  may  refer  to  an  isolated  patch,  one  end  of  a  field  or 
meadow,  sometimes  a  farm  whose  farmer  pays  nothing,  and  gen- 
erally worked  by  a  me'tayer  whose  wants  and  indolence  make 
him  an  annual  expense  to  his  master.  The  latter  may  say  to 
himself  that  the  alienated  parcel  is  not  lost  since,  some  day  or 
other,  through  his  right  of  repurchase,  he  may  take  it  back,  while, 
in  the  meantime,  he  enjoys  a  fens,  drawbacks,  and  the  lord's  dues. 
Moreover,  there  is  on  his  domain  and  around  him,  extensive  open 
spaces  which  the  decline  of  cultivation  and  depopulation  have 
left  a  desert.  To  restore  the  value  of  this  he  must  surrender  its 
proprietorship.  There  is  no  other  way  by  which  to  attach  man 
permanently  to  the  soil.  And  the  government  helps  him  along  in 
this  matter.  Obtaining  no  revenue  from  the  abandoned  soil,  it 
assents  to  a  provisional  withdrawal  of  its  too  weighty  hand.  By 
the  edict  of  1766,  a  piece  of  cleared  waste  land  remains  free  of 
the  faille  for  fifteen  years,  and,  thereupon,  in  twenty-eight  prov- 
inces four  hundred  thousand  arpents  are  cleared  in  three  years.1 
This  is  the  mode  by  which  the  seigniorial  domain  gradually 
crumbles  away  and  decreases.  Towards  the  last,  in  many  places, 
with  the  exception  of  the  chateau  and  the  small  adjoining  farm, 
which  brings  in  two  or  three  thousand  francs  a  year,  nothing  i> 
left  to  the  seignior  but  his  feudal  dues ;  *  the  rest  of  the  soil 

1  "Proces-verbaux  de  1'assemblee  provinciate  de  Basse  Normandie"  (1787),  p.  205. 

*  L£once  de  Lavergne,  p.  26  (according  tD  the  tables  of  indemnity  granted  to  the  emigrjt 
In  1825).  In  the  estate  of  Blet  (see  note  2  at  the  end  of  the  volume),  twenty-two  parcels  ar* 
alienated  in  1760.  Arthur  Young,  I.  308  (the  domain  of  Tour-d' Aigues,  in  Provence),  and 
II.  193,  214.  Doniol,  "  Hiuoire  des  classes  rurales,"  p.  450.  De  Tocqueville,  p.  36. 


CHAP.  I.  THE  PEOPLE.  347 

belongs  to  the  peasantry.  Forbonnais  already  remarks,  towards 
1750,  that  many  of  the  nobles  and  of  the  ennobled  "reduced  to 
extreme  poverty  but  with  titles  to  immense  possessions,"  have 
sold  off  portions  to  small  cultivators  at  low  prices,  and  often  foi 
the  amount  of  the  faille.  Towards  1760,  one-quarter  of  the  soil 
is  said  to  have  already  passed  into  the  hands  of  agriculturists. 
In  1772,  in  relation  to  the  vingtieme,  which  is  levied  on  the  net 
revenue  of  real  property,  the  intendant  of  Caen,  having  com- 
pleted the  statement  of  his  quota,  estimates  that  out  of  one 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  "there  are  perhaps  fifty  thousand 
whose  liabilities  did  not  exceed  five  sous  and  perhaps  still  as 
many  more  not  exceeding  twenty  sous"1  Contemporary  ob- 
servers authenticate  this  passion  of  the  peasant  for  real  property. 
"The  savings  of  the  lower  classes,  which  elsewhere  are  invested 
with  individuals  and  in  the  public  funds,  are  wholly  destined  in 
France  to  the  purchase  of  land."  "Accordingly  the  number  of 
small  rural  holdings  is  always  on  the  increase.  Necker  says  that 
there  is  an  immensity  of  them."  Arthur  Young,  in  1789,  is  as- 
tonished at  their  great  number  and  "  inclines  to  think  that  they 
form  one  third  of  the  kingdom."  That  would  already  be  about 
the  proportion,  and  the  proportion  would  still  be  the  same, 
were  we  to  compare  the  number  of  proprietors  with  the  num- 
ber of  inhabitants. 

The  small  cultivator,  however,  in  becoming  a  possessor  of  the 
soil  assumed  its  charges.  Simply  as  day-laborer,  and  with  his 
arms  alone,  he  was  only  partially  affected  by  the  taxes;  "where 
there  is  nothing  the  king  loses  his  dues."  But  now,  vainly  is  he 
poor  and  declaring  himself  still  poorer;  the  fisc  has  a  hold  on 
him  and  on  every  portion  of  his  new  possessions.  The  col- 
lectors, peasants  like  himself,  and  jealous,  by  virtue  of  being  his 

1  Archives  rationales,  H,  1463  (a  letter  by  M.  de  Fontette,  November  16,  1772,1.  Cf. 
Cochut,  "Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,"  September,  1848.  The  sale  of  the  national  property 
seems  not  to  have  sensibly  increased  small  properties  nor  sensibly  diminished  the  number  of  the 
large  ones.  The  Revolution  developed  moderate  sized  properties.  In  1848,  the  large  estates 
numbered  183,000  (23,000  families  paying  300  francs  taxes,  and  more,  and  possessing  on  the 
average  260  hectares  of  land,  and  160,000  families  paying  from  250  to  500  francs  taxes  and 
possessing  on  the  average  75  hectares).  These  183,000  families  possess  18,000,000  hectares. 
There  are  besides  700,000  medium  sized  estates  (paying  from  50  to  250  francs  tax),  and  com* 
prising  15,000,000  hectares.  And  finally  3,900,000  small  properties  comprising  »5,ooo,ooc 
hectares  (900,000  paving  from  25  to  50  francs  tax  averaging  five  and  one-half  hectares  each, 
ind  3,000,000  paying  less  than  25  francs,  averaging  three  and  one-ninth  hectares  each). 
According  to  the  partial  statements  of  De  Tocqueville  the  number  of  holders  of  real  property 
had  increased,  on  the  average,  to  five-twelfths ;  the  population,  at  the  same  time,  having  in 
creased  five-thirteenths  (from  26  to  36  millions). 


348  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  v. 

neighbors,  know  how  much  his  property,  exposed  to  view,  brings 
in ;  hence  they  take  all  they  can  lay  their  hands  on.  Vainly  has 
he  labored  with  renewed  energy ;  his  hands  remain  as  empty, 
and,  at  the  end  of  the  year,  he  discovers  that  his  field  has  pro- 
duced him  nothing.  The  more  he  acquires  and  produces  the 
more  burdensome  do  the  taxes  become.  In  1715,  the  faille  and 
the  poll-tax,  which  he  alone  pays,  or  nearly  alone,  amounts  to 
sixty-six  millions  of  livres ;  the  amount  is  ninety-three  millions  in 
1759  and  one  hundred  and  ten  millions  in  I789.1  In  1757,  the 
imposts  amount  to  283,156,000  livres;  in  1789  to  476,294,000 
livres. 

Theoretically,  through  humanity  and  through  good  sense, 
there  is,  doubtless,  a  desire  to  relieve  the  peasant  and  pity  is  felt 
for  him.  But,  in  practice,  through  necessity  and  routine,  he  is 
treated  according  to  Cardinal  Richelieu's  precept,  as  a  beast 
of  burden  to  which  oats  are  measured  out  for  fear  that  he  may 
become  too  strong  and  kick,  "  a  mule  which,  accustomed  to  his 
load,  is  spoiled  more  by  long  repose  than  by  work." 

1  "  Compte-ge'ne'ral  des  revenus  et  expenses  fixes  au  icr  Mai,  1789  (Imprimerie  Royale, 
1789).  De  Luynes,  XVI.  49.  Roux  and  Buchez,  I.  206,  374.  (This  relates  only  to  the 
countries  of  election!  in  the  provinces,  with  assemblies,  tne  increase  is  no  less  great). 
Archives  nationales,  H*,  1610  (the  parisl  of  Bourget,  in  Arjou).  Extracts  from  the  faille 
rolls  of  three  mStayer-hxms  belonging  tc  M.  de  R  nil  16.  The  imposts  in  1762  are  334  livres 
3  tout ;  in  1783,  372  livres  15  tout. 


CHAPTER  II. 

TAXATION  THE  PRINCIPAL  CAUSE  OF  MISERY. — I.  Direct  taxes* — State  of 
different  domains  at  the  end  of  the  reign  of  Louis  XV. — Levies  of  the  tithe- 
owner  and  of  the  fisc. — What  remains  to  the  proprietor. — II.  State  of  cer- 
tain provinces  on  the  outbreak  of  the  Revolution. — The  faille,  and  other  im- 
posts.— The  proportion  of  these  taxes  in  relation  to  income. — The  sum  total 
immense. — III.  Four  direct  taxes  on  the  common  laborer. — IV.  Collections 
and  seizures. — V.  Indirect  taxes. — The  salt-tax  and  the  excise. — VI.  Why 
taxation  is  so  burdensome. — Exemptions  and  privileges. — VII.  The  octroit 
of  towns. — The  poor  the  greatest  sufferers. — VIII.  Complaints  in  the  memo 
rials. 

I. 

LET  us  closely  examine  the  extortions  he  has  to  endure,  which 
are  very  great,  much  beyond  any  that  we  can  imagine.  Econo- 
mists had  long  prepared  the  budget  of  a  farm  and  shown  by 
statistics  the  excess  of  charges  with  which  the  cultivator  is  over- 
whelmed.— If  he  continues  to  cultivate,  they  say,  he  must  have 
his  share  in  the  crops,  an  inviolable  portion,  equal  to  one-half  of 
the  entire  production  and  from  which  nothing  can  be  deducted 
without  ruining  him.  This  portion,  indeed,  accurately  repre- 
sents, and  not  a  sou  too  much,  in  the  first  place,  the  interest  of 
the  capital  first  expended  on  the  farm  in  cattle,  furniture,  and  im- 
plements of  husbandry ;  in  the  second  place,  the  maintenance  of 
this  capital,  every  year  depreciated  by  wear  and  tear ;  in  the  third 
place,  the  advances  made  during  the  current  year  for  seed,  wages, 
and  food  for  men  and  animals ;  and,  in  the  last  place,  the  com- 
pensation due  him  for  the  risks  he  takes  and  his  losses.  Here  is 
a  first  lien  which  must  be  satisfied  beforehand,  taking  precedence 
of  all  others,  superior  to  that  of  the  seignior,  to  that  of  the  tithe- 
owner  (dtcimateur),  to  even  that  of  the  king,  for  it  is  an  indebted 
ness  due  to  the  soil.1  After  this  is  paid  back,  then,  and  only  then, 

4  "Collection  des  e'conomistes,"  II.  832.    See  a  tabular  statement  by  Beaudaa 
3° 


350  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  v. 

that  which  remains,  the  net  product,  can  be  touched.  Now,  in  the 
then  state  of  agriculture,  the  tithe-owner  and  the  king  appro- 
priate one-half  of  this  net  product,  when  the  estate  is  large,  and 
the  whole,  if  the  estate  is  a  small  one.1  A  certain  large  farm  in 
Picardy,  worth  to  its  owner  3,600  livres,  pays  1,800  livres  to  the 
king,  and  1,311  livres  to  the  tithe-owner;  another,  in  the  Soisson- 
nais,  rented  for  4,500  livres,  pays  2,200  livres  taxes  and  more  than 
1,000  livres  to  the  tithes.  An  ordinary  me"tayer-farm  near  Nevers 
pays  into  the  treasury  138  livres,  121  livres  to  the  church,  and 
114  livres  to  the  proprietor.  On  another,  in  Poitou,  the  fisc  ab- 
sorbs 348  livres,  and  the  proprietor  receives  only  238.  In  gen- 
eral, in  the  regions  of  large  farms,  the  proprietor  obtains  ten 
livres  the  arpent  if  the  cultivation  is  very  good,  and  three  livres 
when  ordinary.  In  the  regions  of  small  farms,  and  of  the  me"tayer 
system,  he  gets  fifteen  sous  the  arpent,  eight  sous  and  even  six  sous. 
The  entire  net  profit  may  be  said  to  go  to  the  church  and  into  the 
State  treasury. 

Hired  labor,  meantime,  is  no  less  costly.  On  this  me'tayer- 
farm  in  Poitou,  which  brings  in  eight  sous  the  arpent,  thirty- 
six  laborers  consume  each  twenty-six  francs  per  annum  in  rye, 
two  francs  respectively  in  vegetables,  oil  and  milk  preparations, 
and  two  francs  ten  sous  in  pork,  amounting  to  a  sum  total,  each 
year,  for  each  person,  of  sixteen  pounds  of  meat  at  an  expense 
of  thirty-six  francs.  In  fact  they  drink  water  only,  use  rape-seed 
oil  for  soup  and  for  light,  never  taste  butter,  and  dress  themselves 
in  materials  made  of  the  wool  and  hair  of  the  sheep  and  goats 
they  raise.  They  purchase  nothing  save  the  tools  necessary  U. 
make  the  fabrics  of  which  these  provide  the  material.  On  an- 
other metayer-farm,  on  the  confines  of  la  Marche  and  Berry, 
forty-six  laborers  cost  a  smaller  sum,  each  one  consuming  only 
the  value  of  twenty-five  francs  per  annum.  We  can  judge  by 
this  of  the  exorbitant  share  appropriated  to  themselves  by  the 
Church  and  State  since,  at  so  small  a  cost  of  cultivation,  the 
proprietor  finds  in  his  pocket,  at  the  end  of  the  year,  six  or  eight 
sous  per  arpent,  out  of  which,  if  plebeian,  he  must  still  pay  the 
dues  to  his  seignior,  contribute  to  the  common  purse  for  the 
militia,  buy  his  taxed  salt  and  work  out  his  corvee  and  the  rest. 
Towards  the  end  of  the  reign  of  Louis  XV.  in  Limousin,  says 

I  "Eph6m£rides  du  dtoyen,"  IX,  15 ;  an  article  by  M.  de  Butrf,  1767. 


CHAP.  II.  THE  PEOPLE.  351 

Turgot,1  the  king  derives  for  himself  alone  "about  as  much  from 
the  soil  as  the  proprietor."  A  certain  election-district,  that 
of  Tulle,  where  he  abstracts  fifty-six  and  one-half  per  cent,  of  the 
product,  there  remains  to  the  latter  forty-three  and  one-half  pei 
cent,  thus  accounting  for  "a  multitude  of  domains  being  aban- 
doned." 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  time  renders  the  tax  less  onerous 
or  that,  in  other  provinces,  the  cultivator  is  better  treated.  In 
this  respect  the  documents  are  authentic  and  almost  up  to  the 
latest  hour.  We  have  only  to  take  up  the  official  statements 
of  the  provincial  assemblies  held  in  1787,  to  learn  by  official 
figures  to  what  extent  the  fisc  may  abuse  the  men  who  labor,  and 
take  bread  out  of  the  mouths  of  those  who  have  earned  it  by 
the  sweat  of  their  brows. 

II. 

Direct  taxation  alone  is  here  concerned,  the  tattles,  collat- 
eral imposts,  poll-tax,  vingtie'mes,  and  the  pecuniary  tax  sub- 
stituted for  the  corve"e?  In  Champagne,  the  tax-payer  pays 
on  100  livres  income  fifty -four  livres  fifteen  sous,  on  the  aver- 
age, and  in  many  parishes,3  seventy-one  livres  thirteen  sous.  In 
the  Ile-de- France,  "if  a  taxable  inhabitant  of  a  village,  the  pro- 
prietor of  twenty  arpents  of  land  which  he  himself  works,  and  the 
income  of  which  is  estimated  at  ten  livres  per  arpent,  it  is  sup- 
posed that  he  is  likewise  the  owner  of  the  house  he  occupies,  the 
site  being  valued  at  forty  livres."4  This  tax-payer  pays  for  his 
real  taille,  personal  and  industrial,  thirty-five  livres  fourteen  sous, 
for  collateral  taxes  seventeen  livres  seventeen  sous,  for  the  poll- 
tax  twenty-one  livres  eight  sous,  for  the  mngtiemes  twenty-four 
livres  four  sous,  in  all  ninety-nine  livres  three  sous,  to  which 
must  be  added  about  five  livres  as  the  substitution  for  the  corvee, 
in  all  104  livres  on  a  piece  of  property  which  he  rents  for  240 
livres,  and  which  amounts  to  five-twelfths  of  his  income. 

It  is  much  worse  on  making  the  same  calculation  for  the 

>  *'  Collection  des  economistes,"  I.  551,  562. 

•  "Proces-verbaux  de  1'assemb.ee  provinciate  de  Champagne"  (1787),  p.  94* 

•Cf.  "Notice  historique  sur  la  Revolution  darj  le  departement  de  I'Eure,"  by  Boivin- 
Champeaux,  p.  37.  A  memorial  of  the  parish  of  Epreville;  on  100  francs  income  th« 
Treasury  takes  22  for  the  taiUe,  16  for  collaterals,  15  for  the  poll-tax,  n  for  the  vi 
total  67  livres. 

*  "Proces-verbaux  4e  I'assewblee  orovinr'ale  ie  ''Ile-de-Francc  "  (1787),  PL  13*. 


352  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  v. 

poorer  generalities.  In  Haute-Guyenne,1  "all  property  in  land  is 
taxed,  for  the  taille,  the  collateral  imposts,  and  the  vingttimes, 
more  than  one-quarter  of  its  revenue,  the  onh  deduction  being 
the  expenses  of  cultivation ;  also  dwellings,  one-third  of  theii 
revenue,  deducting  only  the  cost  of  repairs  and  of  maintenance; 
to  which  must  be  added  the  poll-tax,  which  takes  about  one- 
tenth  of  the  revenue ;  the  tithe,  which  absorbs  one-seventh ;  the 
seigniorial  rents  which  take  another  seventh ;  the  tax  substituted 
for  the  corvle;  the  costs  of  compulsory  collections,  seizures,  se- 
questrations and  constraints,  and  all  ordinary  and  extraordinary 
local  charges.  This  being  subtracted,  it  is  evident  that,  in  com- 
munities moderately  taxed,  the  proprietor  does  not  enjoy  a  third 
of  his  income,  and  that,  in  the  communities  wronged  by  the  assess- 
ments, the  proprietors  are  reduced  to  the  status  of  simple  farmers 
scarcely  able  to  get  enough  to  restore  the  expenses  of  cultiva- 
tion." In  Auvergne,2  the  taille  amounts  to  four  sous  on  the  livre 
net  profit;  the  collateral  imposts  and  the  poll-tax  take  off  four 
sous  three  deniers  more;  the  vingtiemes,  two  sous  and  three 
deniers ;  the  contribution  to  the  royal  roads,  to  the  free  gift,  to 
local  charges  and  the  cost  of  levying,  take  again  one  sou  one 
denier,  the  total  being  eleven  sous  and  seven  deniers  per  livre  on 
income,  without  counting  seigniorial  dues  and  the  tithe.  "The 
bureau,  moreover,  recognizes  with  regret,  that  several  of  the 
collections  pay  at  the  rate  of  seventeen  sous,  sixteen  sous,  and 
the  most  moderate,  at  the  rate  of  fourteen  sous  the  livre.  The 
evidence  of  this  is  in  the  bureau;  it  is  on  file  in  the  registry 
of  the  court  of  excise,  and  of  the  election-districts.  It  is  still 
more  apparent  in  parishes  where  an  infinite  number  of  assess- 
ments are  found,  laid  on  property  that  has  been  abandoned, 
which  the  collectors  lease,  and  the  product  of  which  is  often  in- 
adequate to  pay  the  tax." — Statistics  of  this  kind  are  terribly  elo- 
quent. They  may  be  summed  up  in  one  word.  Putting  together 
Normandy,  the  Orleans  region,  that  of  Soissons,  Champagne, 
Ile-de-France,  Berry,  Poitou,  Auvergne,  the  Lyons  region,  Gas- 
cony,  and  Haute-Guyenne,  in  brief  the  principal  election  sections, 
we  find  that  out  of  every  hundred  francs  of  revenue  the  direct 
tax  on  the  tax-payer  is  fifty-three  francs,  or  more  than  one-half.1 
This  is  about  five  times  as  much  as  at  the  present  day. 

>  "Proces-verbaux  de  1'ass.  prov.  de  la  Haute-Guyenne"  (1784),  II.  17,  40,  47. 

*  "  Proces-verbaux  de  1'ass.  prov.  d' Auvergne"  (1787),  p.  253. 

*  See  note  5  at  the  end  of  the  volume. 


CHAP.  H.  THE  PEOPLE.  353 

III. 

The  fisc,  however,  in  thus  bearing  down  on  taxable  property 
has  not  released  the  taxable  person  without  property.  In  the 
absence  of  land  it  seizes  on  men.  In  default  of  an  income  it 
taxes  a  man's  wages.  With  the  exception  of  the  vingtitmes,  the 
preceding  imposts  not  only  bore  on  those  who  possessed  some- 
thing but,  again,  on  those  who  possessed  nothing.  In  the 
Toulousain,1  at  St.  Pierre  de  Barjouville,  the  poorest  day-laborer, 
with  nothing  but  his  hands  by  which  to  earn  his  support,  and 
getting  ten  sous  a  day,  pays  eight,  nine  and  ten  livres  poll-tax. 
"In  Burgundy2  it  is  common  to  see  a  poor  mechanic,  without 
any  property,  taxed  eighteen  and  twenty  livres  for  his  poll-tax 
and  the  taille?  In  Limousin,3  all  the  money  brought  back  by 
the  masons  in  winter  serves  "  to  pay  the  imposts  charged  to  their 
families."  As  to  the  rural  day-laborers  and  the  settlers  (colons) 
the  proprietor,  even  when  privileged,  who  employs  them,  is 
obliged  to  take  upon  himself  a  part  of  their  quota;  otherwise, 
being  without  anything  to  eat,  they  cannot  work, 4  even  in  the 
interest  of  the  master;  man  must  have  his  ration  of  bread  the 
same  as  an  ox  his  ration  of  hay.  "  In  Brittany,5  it  is  notorious 
that  nine-tenths  of  the  artisans,  though  poorly  fed  and  poorly 
clothed,  have  not  a  crown  free  of  debt  at  the  end  of  the  year," 
the  poll-tax  and  others  carrying  off  this  only  and  last  crown.  At 
Paris6  "the  dealer  in  ashes,  the  buyer  of  old  bottles,  the  gleaner 
of  the  gutters,  the  peddlers  of  old  iron  and  old  hats,"  the  mo- 
ment they  obtain  a  shelter  pay  the  poll-tax  of  three  livres  and 
ten  sous  each.  To  ensure  its  payment  the  occupant  of  a  house 
who  sub-lets  to  them  is  made  responsible.  Moreover,  in  case 
of  delay,  a  "blue  man,"  a  bailiffs  subordinate,  is  sent  who  in- 
stalls himself  on  the  spot  and  whose  time  they  have  to  pay  for. 
Mercier  cites  a  mechanic,  named  Quatremain,  who,  with  four 
small  children,  lodged  in  the  sixth  story,  where  he  had  arranged 
a  chimney  as  a  sort  of  alcove  in  which  he  and  his  family  slept. 

•  "Theron  de  Montaug£,"  p.  109  (1763).    Wages  at  this  time  are  from  7  to  12  sous  a  day 
in  summer. 

•  Archives  rationales,  proces-verbaux  and  memorials  of  the  States-General,  v.  LIX.  p 
C.    A  memorial  to  M.  Necker,  by  M.  d'Orgeux,  honorary  counsellor  to  the  Parliament  o' 
Burgundy,  Oct  25,  1788. 

»  Ibid.  H,  1418.    A  letter  of  the  intendant  of  Limoges,  Feb.  26,  1784. 

«  Turgot,  II.  259. 

1  Archives  Rationales,  H,  426  (remonstrances  of  the  Parliament  of  Brittany,  F»b,  17(3) 

•  Mercier,  XI.  59:  X.  362. 

30* 


354  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  v. 

"  One  day  I  opened  his  door,  fastened  with  a  latch  only,  the  roona 
presenting  to  view  nothing  but  the  walls  and  a  vice ;  the  man/ 
coming  out  from  under  his  chimney,  half  sick,  says  to  me,  'I 
thought  it  was  the  blue  man  for  the  poll-tax.' "  Thus,  whatever 
the  condition  of  the  person  subject  to  taxation,  however  stripped 
and  destitute,  the  dexterous  hands  of  the  fisc  take  hold  of  him. 
Mistakes  cannot  possibly  occur :  it  puts  on  no  disguise,  it  comes 
on  the  appointed  day  and  rudely  lays  its  hand  on  his  shoulder. 
The  garret  and  the  hut,  as  well  as  the  farm  and  the  farm-house 
know  the  collector,  the  constable  and  the  bailiff;  no  hovel  escapes 
the  detestable  brood.  The  people  sow,  harvest  their  crops, 
work  and  undergo  privation  for  their  benefit ;  and,  should  the 
farthings  so  painfully  saved  each  week  amount,  at  the  end  of 
the  year,  to  a  piece  of  silver,  the  mouth  of  their  pouch  closes 
over  it 

IV. 

Observe  the  system  actually  at  work.  It  is  a  sort  of  shearing 
machine,  clumsy  and  badly  put  together,  of  which  the  action  is 
about  as  mischievous  as  it  is  serviceable.  The  worst  feature  is, 
that,  in  its  grinding  cog-wheels,  those  who  are  subject  to  taxa- 
tion, the  last  tool  employed,  must  shear  and  fleece  themselves. 
In  each  parish,  there  are  two,  three,  five  or  seven  of  these 
who,  under  the  name  of  collectors  and  authorized  by  the  elu, 
must  apportion  and  collect  the  taxes.  "No  duty  is  more  oner- 
ous ; " *  everybody,  through  patronage  or  favor,  tries  to  get  rid  of 
it.  The  communities  are  constantly  pleading  against  the  refrac- 
tory, and,  that  nobody  may  escape  under  the  pretext  of  ignorance, 
the  table  of  future  collectors  is  made  up  for  ten  and  fifteen  years 
in  advance.  In  parishes  of  the  second  class  these  consist  of 
"small  proprietors,  each  of  whom  becomes  a  collector  about 
every  six  years."  In  many  of  the  villages  the  artisans,  day-labor- 
ers, and  metayer-farmers  perform  the  service,  although  requiring 
all  their  time  to  earn  their  own  living.  In  Auvergne,  where  the 
able-bodied  men  expatriate  themselves  in  winter  to  find  work,  the 
women  are  taken;2  in  the  election-district  of  Saint- Flour,  a  cer- 

1  Archives  nationalcs,  H,  1422,  a  letter  by  M.  d'AIne,  5  nendant  of  Limoges  (February 
17,  1782);  one  by  the  intendant  of  Moulins  (April,  1779)      the  trial  of  the  community  of 
Molion  (Bordelais),  and  the  tab.es  of  its  collectors. 
'i  *  "Proces-verbaux  de  1'ass.  prov.  d'Auvergne,"  p.  266. 


CHAP.  n.  THE  PEOPLE.  355 

tain  village  has  four  collectors  in  petticoats.  They  are  responsi- 
ble for  all  claims  entrusted  to  them,  their  property,  their  furniture 
and  their  persons ;  and,  up  to  the  time  of  Turgot,  each  is  bound 
for  the  others.  We  can  judge  of  their  risks  and  sufferings.  In 
1785^  in  one  single  district  in  Champagne,  eighty-five  are  impris- 
oned and  two  hundred  of  them  are  on  the  road  every  year.  "  The 
collector,  says  the  provincial  assembly  of  Berry,2  usually  passes 
one-half  of  the  day  for  two  years  running  from  door  to  door  to 
see  delinquent  tax-payers."  "  This  service,"  writes  Turgot,3 "  is  the 
despair  and  almost  always  the  ruin  of  those  obliged  to  perform 
it;  all  families  in  easy  circumstances  in  a  village  are  thus  suc- 
cessively reduced  to  want."  In  short,  there  is  no  collector  who 
is  not  forced  to  act  and  who  has  not  each  year  "  eight  or  ten 
writs"  served  on  him.4  Sometimes  he  is  imprisoned  at  the  ex- 
pense of  the  parish.  Sometimes  proceedings  are  instituted  against 
him  and  the  tax-contributors  by  the  installation  of  "'blue  men' 
and  seizures,  seizures  under  arrest,  seizures  in  execution  and 
sales  of  furniture."  "  In  the  single  district  of  Villefranche,"  says 
the  provincial  Assembly  of  Haute- Guy enne,  "  a  hundred  and  six 
warrant  officers  and  other  agents  of  the  bailiff  are  counted  always 
on  the  road." 

The  thing  becomes  customary  and  the  parish  suffers  in  vain, 
for  it  would  suffer  yet  more  were  it  to  do  otherwise.  "  Near 
Aurillac,"  says  the  Marquis  de  Mirabeau,5  "there  is  industry, 
application  and  economy  without  which  there  would  be  only 
misery  and  want.  This  produces  a  partially  insolvent  people 
with  timorous  rich  ones  who,  for  fear  of  overcharge,  produce  the 
impoverished.  The  faille  once  assessed,  everybody  groans  and 
complains  and  nobody  pays  it.  The  term  having  expired,  at  the 
hour  and  minute,  constraint  begins,  the  collectors,  although  able, 
taking  no  trouble  to  arrest  this  by  making  a  settlement,  notwith- 
standing the  installation  of  the  bailiff's  men  is  costly.  But  this 
kind  of  expense  is  habitual  and  people  expect  it  instead  of  fearing 
it,  for,  if  it  were  less  rigorous,  they  would  be  sure  to  be  addi- 
tionally burdened  the  following  year."  The  receiver,  indeed,  who 

1  Albert  Babeau,  "Histoire  de  Tioyes,"  I.  72. 
'  "  Proces-verbaux  de  1'ass.  prov.  de  Beny "  (1778),  I.  pp.  72,  80. 
»  De  Tocquevffle,  187. 

4  Archives  rationales,  H,  1417.     (A  letter  of  M.  de  Cypierre,  intendant  at  Orbu>»,  April 
*7i  1765)- 
•  "Trait*  de  Population,"  2d  part,  p.  26. 


356  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  v, 

pays  the  bailiff's  officers  a  franc  a  day,  makes  them  pay  two  francs 
and  appropriates  the  difference.  Hence  "if  certain  parishes 
venture  to  pay  promptly,  without  awaiting  constraint,  the  receiver, 
who  sees  himself  deprived  of  the  best  portion  of  his  gains,  be- 
comes ill-humored,  and,  at  the  next  department  (meeting),  an 
arrangement  is  made  between  himself,  messieurs  the  elected,  the 
subdelegate  and  other  shavers  of  this  species,  for  the  parish 
to  bear  a  double  load,  to  teach  it  how  to  behave  itself." 

A  population  of  administrative  blood-suckers  thus  lives  on 
the  peasant  "  Lately,"  says  an  intendant,  "in  the  district  of  Ro- 
morantin,1  the  collectors  received  nothing  from  a  sale  of  furniture 
amounting  to  six  hundred  livres,  because  the  proceeds  were 
absorbed  by  the  expenses.  In  the  district  of  Chateaudun  the 
same  thing  occurred  at  a  sale  amounting  to  nine  hundred  livres 
and  there  are  other  transactions  of  the  same  kind  of  which  we 
have  no  information,  however  flagrant."  Besides  this,  the  fisc 
itself  is  pitiless.  The  same  intendant  writes,  in  1784,  a  year  of 
famine:2  "People  have  seen,  with  horror,  the  collector,  in  the 
country,  disputing  with  heads  of  families  over  the  costs  of  a  sale 
of  furniture  which  had  been  appropriated  to  stopping  their 
children's  cry  of  want."  Were  the  collectors  not  to  make  seiz- 
ures they  would  themselves  be  seized.  Urged  on  by  the  receiver 
we  see  them,  in  the  documents,  soliciting,  prosecuting  and 
persecuting  the  tax-payers.  Every  Sunday  and  every  fete-day 
they  are  posted  at  the  church  door  to  warn  delinquents;  and 
then,  during  the  week  they  go  from  door  to  door  to  obtain  their 
dues.  "Commonly  they  cannot  write  and  take  a  scribe  with 
them."  Out  of  six  hundred  and  six  traversing  the  district  of 
Saint-Hour  not  ten  of  them  are  able  to  read  the  official  summons 
and  sign  a  receipt;  hence  innumerable  mistakes  and  frauds. 
Besides  a  scribe  they  take  along  the  bailiff's  subordinates,  per- 
sons of  the  lowest  class,  laborers  without  work,  conscious  of  being 
hated  and  who  act  accordingly.  "  Whatever  orders  may  be  given 
.hem  not  to  take  anything,  not  to  make  the  inhabitants  feed 
them,  or  to  enter  taverns  with  collectors,"  habit  is  too  strong 
"and  the  abuse  continues."3  But,  burdensome  as  the  bailiff's 

i  Archives  nation  ales,  H,  1417.    (A  letter  of  M.  de  Cypierre,  intendant  at  Orleans,  April, 
*7.  «7«5). 

» Ibid.  H,  1418.     (Letter  of  May  28,  1784). 
»  Hid,  (Letter  of  the  intendant  of  Tours,  June  15,  1765.) 


CHAP.  u.  THE  PEOPLE.  357 

men  may  be,  care  is  taken  not  to  evade  them.  IE  this  respect, 
writes  an  intendant,  "  their  obduracy  is  strange."  "  No  person," 
a  receiver  reports,1  "  pays  the  collector  until  he  sees  the  bailiff's 
man  in  his  house."  The  peasant  resembles  his  ass,  refusing  to  go 
without  being  beaten,  and,  although  in  this  he  may  appear  stupid, 
he  is  politic.  For  the  collector,  being  responsible,  "naturally 
inclines  to  an  increase  of  the  assessment  on  prompt  payers  to  the 
advantage  of  the  negligent.  Hence  the  prompt  payer  becomes, 
in  his  turn,  negligent  and,  although  with  money  in  his  chest,  he 
allows  the  process  to  go  on."2  Summing  all  up,  he  calculates 
that  the  process,  even  if  expensive,  costs  less  than  extra  taxation, 
and  of  the  two  evils  he  chooses  the  least.  He  has  but  one 
resource  against  the  collector  and  receiver,  his  simulated  or  act- 
ual poverty,  voluntary  or  involuntary.  "  Every  one  subject  to 
the  taille"  says,  again,  the  provincial  assembly  of  Berry,  " dreads 
to  expose  his  resources;  he  avoids  any  display  of  these  in  his 
furniture,  in  his  dress,  in  his  food,  and  in  everything  open  to 
another's  observation."  "  M.  de  Choiseul-Gouffier,3  willing  to 
roof  his  peasants'  houses,  liable  to  take  fire,  with  tiles,  they 
thanked  him  for  his  kindness  but  begged  him  to  leave  them  as 
they  were,  telling  him  that  if  these  were  covered  with  tiles,  instead 
of  with  thatch,  the  subdelegates  would  increase  their  taxation." 
"  People  work,  but  merely  to  satisfy  their  prime  necessities.  .  .  . 
The  fear  of  paying  an  extra  crown  makes  an  average  man  neglect 
a  profit  of  four  times  the  amount."4  ".  .  .  Accordingly,  lean  cattle, 
poor  implements,  and  bad  manure-heaps  when  they  might  have 
others."5  "  If  I  earned  any  more,"  says  a -peasant,  "  it  would  be 
for  the  collector."  Annual  and  illimitable  spoliation  "  takes  away 
even  the  desire  for  comforts."  The  majority,  pusillanimous, 
distrustful,  stupefied,  "debased,"  "differing  little  from  the  old 
serfs,"6  resemble  Egyptian  fellahs  and  Hindoo  pariahs.  The 
fisc,  indeed,  through  the  absolutism  and  enormity  of  its  indebted- 
ness, renders  property  of  all  kinds  precarious,  every  acquisition 
vain,  every  accumulation  derisive ;  in  fact,  proprietors  arc  posses- 
sors only  of  that  which  they  can  sequestrate  from  it. 

1  Archives  Nadonales,  H,  1417.    A  report  by  Raudon,  receiver  of  failles  in  the  t^ciion  at 
Luon,  January,  1764. 

*  "  Proces-verbaux  de  I'ass.  prov.  de  Berry"  (1778),  I.  p.  73. 
1  Champfort,  93. 

*  "Proces-verbaux  de  I'ass.  prov.  de  Berry,"  I.  77. 

*  Arthur  Young,  II.  305. 

'  "Proces-verbaux  of  the  ass.  prov.  of  the  generalship  of  Rouen"  (1767),  p.  tja. 


358  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  v. 

V. 

The  fisc,  in  every  country,  has  two  hands,  one,  which  visibly 
and  directly  searches  the  coffers  of  tax-payers,  and  the  other; 
which  covertly  employs  the  hand  of  an  intermediary  so  as  not  tc 
incur  the  odium  of  fresh  extortions.  Here,  no  precaution  of  this 
kind  is  taken,  the  claws  of  the  latter  being  as  visible  as  those  of 
the  former;  according  to  its  structure  and  the  complaints  made 
of  it,  I  am  tempted  to  believe  it  more  offensive  than  the  other. 

In  the  first  place,  the  salt -tax,  the  excises  and  the  customs  art 
annually  estimated  and  sold  to  adjudicators  who,  purely  as  a 
business  matter,  make  as  much  profit  as  they  can  by  their  bargain. 
In  relation  to  the  tax-payer  they  are  not  administrators  but  spec- 
ulators ;  they  have  bought  him  up.  He  belongs  to  them  by  the 
terms  of  their  contract ;  they  will  squeeze  out  of  him,  not  merely 
their  advances  and  the  interest  on  their  advances,  but,  again, 
every  possible  benefit.  This  suffices  to  indicate  the  mode  of  levy- 
ing indirect  imposts.  In  the  second  place,  by  means  of  the 
salt-tax  and  the  excises,  the  inquisition  enters  each  household. 
In  the  provinces  where  these  are  levied,  in  Ile-de-France, 
Maine,  Anjou,  Touraine,  Orle"anais,  Berry,  Bourbonnais,  Bur 
gogne,  Champagne,  Perche,  Normandy  and  Picardy,  salt  costs 
thirteen  sous  a  pound,  four  times  as  much  as  at  the  present  day, 
and,  considering  the  standard  of  money,  eight  times  as  much.1 
And,  furthermore,  by  virtue  of  the  ordinance  of  1680,  each  per- 
son over  seven  years  of  age  is  expected  to  purchase  seven  pounds 
per  annum,  which,  with  four  persons  to  a  family,  makes  eighteen 
francs  a  year,  and  equal  to  nineteen  days'  work:  a  new  direct 
tax,  which,  like  the  faille,  is  a  fiscal  hand  in  the  pockets  of  the 
tax-payers,  and  compelling  them,  like  the  faille,  to  torment  each 
other.  Many  of  them,  in  fact,  are  officially  appointed  to  assess 
this  obligatory  use  of  salt  and,  like  the  collectors  of  the  faille, 
these  are  "  corporately  responsible  for  the  price  of  the  salt." 
Others  below  them,  ever  following  the  same  course  as  in  collect- 
ing the  faille,  are  likewise  responsible.  "  After  the  former  have 
been  distrained  in  their  persons  and  property,  the  speculator  fer- 
mier  is  authorized  to  commence  action,  under  the  principle  of 

1  Letrosne  (1779).  "l>e  ''administration  provinciate  et  de  la  reforme  de  I'imp6t,"  pp.  39, 
262  and  138.  Archives  rationales,  H.  138  (1782).  Cahier  de  Bugey,  "  Salt  costs  the  country- 
man purchasing  it  of  the  retailers  from  15  to  1 7  sous  a  pound,  according  to  the  way  of  mea* 
tiring  it." 


CHAP.  n.  THE  PEOPLE.  359 

mutual  responsibility,  against  the  principal  inhabitants  of  the  par- 
ish." The  effects  of  this  system  have  just  been  described.  Ac- 
cordingly, "in  Normandy,"  says  the  Rouen  parliament,1  "unfor- 
tunates without  bread  are  daily  objects  of  seizure,  sale  and  exe- 
cution." 

But  if  the  rigor  is  as  great  as  in  the  matter  of  the  faille,  the 
vexations  are  ten  times  greater,  for  these  are  domestic,  minute 
and  of  daily  occurrence.  It  is  forbidden  to  divert  an  ounce  of 
the  seven  obligatory  pounds  to  any  use  but  that  of  the  "pot  and 
the  salt-cellar."  If  a  villager  should  economize  the  salt  of  his 
soup  to  make  brine  for  a  piece  of  pork,  with  a  view  to  winter 
consumption,  let  him  look  out  for  the  collecting-clerks!  His 
pork  is  confiscated  and  the  fine  is  three  hundred  livres.  The 
man  must  come  to  the  warehouse  and  purchase  other  salt,  make 
a  declaration,  carry  off  a  certificate  and  show  this  at  every  visit 
of  inspection.  So  much  the  worse  for  him  if  he  has  not  the 
wherewithal  to  pay  for  this  supplementary  salt ;  he  has  only  to 
sell  his  pig  and  abstain  from  meat  on  Christmas.  This  is  the 
more  frequent  case  and  I  dare  say  that,  for  the  me*tayers  who 
pay  twenty-five  francs  per  annum,  it  is  the  usual  case.  It  is  for- 
bidden to  make  use  of  any  other  salt  for  the  pot  and  salt-cellar 
than  that  of  the  seven  pounds.  "I  am  able  to  cite,"  says  Le- 
trosne,  "two  sisters  residing  one  league  from  a  town  in  which 
the  warehouse  is  open  only  on  Saturday.  Their  supply  was  ex- 
hausted. To  pass  three  or  four  days  until  Saturday  comes  they 
boil  a  remnant  of  brine  from  which  they  extract  a  few  ounces  of 
salt.  A  visit  from  the  clerk  ensues  and  a  prods-verbal.  Having 
friends  and  protectors  this  costs  them  only  forty-eight  livres," 
It  is  forbidden  to  take  water  from  the  ocean  and  from  other 
saline  sources,  under  a  penalty  of  from  twenty  to  forty  livres  fine. 
It  is  forbidden  to  water  cattle  in  marshes  and  other  places  con- 
taining salt,  under  penalty  of  confiscation  and  a  fine  of  three 
hundred  livres.  It  is  forbidden  to  put  salt  into  the  bellies  of 
mackerel  on  returning  from  fishing,  or  between  their  superposed 
layers.  An  order  prescribes  one  pound  and  a  half  to  a  barrel. 
Another  order  prescribes  the  destruction  annually  of  the  natural 
salt  formed  in  certain  cantons  in  Provence.  Judges  are  prohib- 
ited from  moderating  or  reducing  the  penalties  imposed  in  salt 

'  Floquet,  VI.  367  (May  io>  1760). 


360  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  v 

cases,  under  penalty  of  accountability  and  of  deposition.  I  pass 
over  quantities  of  orders  and  prohibitions,  existing  by  hundreds. 
This  legislation  encompasses  tax-payers  like  a  net  with  a  thou- 
sand meshes,  while  the  official  who  casts  it  is  interested  in  find- 
ing them  at  fault.  We  see  the  fisherman,  accordingly,  unpack- 
ing his  barrel,  the  housewife  seeking  a  certificate  for  her  hams, 
the  exciseman  inspecting  the  buffet,  testing  the  brine,  peering 
into  the  salt-box  and,  if  it  is  of  good  quality,  declaring  it  contra- 
band because  that  of  theferme,  the  only  legitimate  salt,  is  usually 
adulterated  and  mixed  with  plaster. 

Meanwhile,  other  officials,  those  of  the  excise,  descend  into  the 
cellar.  None  are  more  formidable,  nor  who  more  eagerly  seize 
on  pretexts  for  delinquency.1  "  Let  a  citizen  charitably  bestow 
a  bottle  of  wine  on  a  poor  feeble  creature  and  he  is  liable  to 
prosecution  and  to  excessive  penalties.  .  .  .  The  poor  invalid 
that  may  interest  his  curate  in  the  begging  of  a  bottle  of  wine 
for  him  will  undergo  a  trial  ruining,  not  alone  the  unfortunate  man 
that  obtains  it,  but  again  the  benefactor  who  gave  it  to  him. 
This  is  not  a  fancied  story."  By  virtue  of  the  right  of  deficient 
revenue  the  clerks  may,  at  any  hour,  take  an  inventory  of  wine 
on  hand,  even  the  stores  of  a  vineyard  proprietor,  indicate  what 
he  may  consume,  tax  him  for  the  rest  and  for  the  surplus  quantity 
already  drunk,  theferme  thus  associating  itself  with  the  wine- 
producer  and  claiming  its  portion  of  his  production.  In  a  vine- 
yard at  Epernay2  on  four  casks  of  wine,  the  average  product  of 
one  arpent,  and  worth  six*  hundred  francs,  it  levies,  at  first, 
thirty  francs,  and  then,  after  the  sale  of  the  four  casks,  seventy- 
five  francs  additionally.  Naturally,  "the  inhabitants  resort  to 
the  shrewdest  and  best  planned  artifices  to  escape"  such  potent 
rights.3  But  the  clerks  are  alert,  watchful,  and  well-informed, 
and  they  pounce  down  unexpectedly  on  every  suspected  domicile; 
their  instructions  prescribe  frequent  inspections  and  exact  regis- 
tries "enabling  them  to  see  at  a  glance  the  condition  of  the 
cellar  of  each  inhabitant."4  The  manufacturer  having  paid  up, 
the  merchant  now  has  his  turn.  The  latter,  on  sending  the  four 
casks  to  the  consumer  again  pays  seventy-five  francs  to  \heferme. 

1  Boivin-Champeaux,  p.  44.     (Cahiers  of  Bray  and  of  Gamaches). 

•  Arthur  Young,  II.  175-178. 

•Archives  rationales,  G,  300;   G,  319.      (Memorials  and  instructions  of  various  local 
Brectors  of  the  Excise  to  their  successors). 

•  Letrosne,  ibid.  533. 


CHAP.  n.  THE  PEOPLE.  361 

The  wine  is  despatched  and  the  jerme  prescribes  the  roads  by 
which  it  must  go;  should  others  be  taken  it  is  confiscated  and, 
at  every  step  on  the  way  some  payment  must  be  made.  "A 
boat  laden  with  wine  from  Languedoc,  Dauphiny  or  Roussillon, 
ascending  the  Rhone  and  descending  the  Loire  to  reach  Paris, 
through  the  Briare  canal,  pays  on  the  way,  leaving  out  charges 
on  the  Rhone,  from  thirty-five  to  forty  kinds  of  duty  not  com- 
prising the  charges  on  entering  Paris."  It  pays  these  "  at  fifteen 
or  sixteen  places,  the  multiplied  payments  obliging  the  carriers 
to  devote  twelve  or  fifteen  days  more  to  the  passage  than  they 
otherwise  would  if  their  duties  could  be  paid  at  one  bureau." 
The  charges  on  the  routes  by  water  are  particularly  heavy. 
"  From  Pontarlier  to  Lyons  there  are  twenty-five  or  thirty  tolls ; 
from  Lyons  to  Aigues-Mortes  there  are  others,  so  that  whatever 
costs  ten  sous  in  Burgundy  amounts  to  fifteen  and  eighteen  sous  at 
Lyons  and  to  over  twenty-five  sous  at  Aigues-Mortes."  The 
wine  at  last  reaches  the  barriers  of  the  city  where  it  is  to  be 
drunk.  Here  it  pays  an  octroi  of  forty-seven  francs  per  hogshead. 
Entering  Paris  it  goes  into  the  tapster's  or  innkeeper's  cellar 
where  it  again  pays  from  thirty  to  forty  francs  for  the  duty  on 
selling  it  at  retail ;  at  Rethel  the  duty  is  from  fifty  to  sixty  francs 
per  puncheon,  Rheims  gauge.  The  total  is  exorbitant.  "At 
Rennes,1  the  dues  and  duties  on  a  barrel  of  Bordeaux  wine,  to- 
gether with  a  fifth  over  and  above  the  tax,  local  charges,  eight 
sous  per  pound  and  the  octroi,  amount  to  more  than  seventy-two 
livres  exclusive  of  the  purchase  money;  to  which  must  be  added 
the  expenses  and  duties  advanced  by  the  Rennes  merchant  and 
which  he  recovers  from  the  purchaser,  Bordeaux  drayage,  freight, 
insurance,  tolls  of  the  flood-gate,  entrance  duty  into  the  town, 
hospital  dues,  fees  of  gaugers,  brokers  and  inspectors.  The  total 
outlay  for  the  tapster  who  sells  a  barrel  of  wine  amounts  to  two 
hundred  livres."  We  may  imagine  whether,  at  this  price,  the 
people  of  Rennes  drink  it,  while  these  charges  fall  on  the  wine- 
grower, since,  if  consumers  do  not  purchase,  he  is  unable  to  sell. 
Accordingly,  among  the  small  growers,  he  is  the  most  to  be 
pitied;  according  to  the  testimony  of  Arthur  Young,  wine- 
grower and  misery  are  two  synonymous  terms.  The  crop  often 
fails,  "every  doubtful  crop  ruining  the  man  without  capital."  In 

1  Archives  Rationales,  H,  436  (Papers  of  the  Parliament  of  Brittany,  February,  1783) 
31 


362  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME,  BOOK  V. 

Burgundy,  in  Berry,  in  Soisonnais,  in  the  Trois-Eve'che's,  in 
Champagne,1  I  find  in  every  report  that  he  lacks  bread  and  lives 
on  alms.  In  Champagne,  the  syndics  of  Bar-sur-Aube  write1 
that  the  inhabitants,  to  escape  duties,  have  more  than  once 
emptied  their  wine  into  the  river,  the  provincial  assembly  de- 
claring that  "in  the  greater  portion  of  the  province  the  slightest 
augmentation  of  duties  would  cause  the  cultivators  to  desert  the 
soil."  Such  is  the  history  of  wine  under  the  ancient  regime. 
From  the  producer  who  grows  to  the  tapster  who  sells  what 
extortions  and  what  vexations !  As  to  the  salt-tax,  according 
to  the  comptroller-general,3  this  annually  produces  four  thou- 
sand domiciliary  seizures,  three  thousand  four  hundred  imprison- 
ments, five  hundred  sentences  to  flogging,  exile  and  the  galleys. 
If  ever  two  imposts  were  well  combined,  not  only  to  despoil, 
but  to  irritate  the  peasantry,  the  poor  and  the  people,  here  they 
are. 

VI. 

Evidently  the  burden  of  taxation  forms  the  chief  cause  of 
misery;  hence  an  accumulated,  deep-seated  hatred  against  the 
fisc  and  its  agents,  receivers,  store-house  keepers,  excise  officials, 
customs  officers  and  clerks.  But  why  is  taxation  so  burdensome  ? 
The  answer  is  not  doubtful,  the  communes  which  annually  plead 
against  certain  persons  to  subject  them  to  the  faille  writing  it  out 
fully  in  their  demands.  What  renders  the  charge  overwhelming 
is  the  fact  that  the  strongest  and  those  best  able  to  bear  taxation 
succeed  in  evading  it,  the  prime  cause  of  misery  being  their  ex- 
emption. 

Let  us  follow  up  the  matter  impost  after  impost.  In  the  first 
place,  not  only  are  nobles  and  ecclesiastics  exempt  from  the 
personal  faille  but  again,  as  we  have  already  seen,  they  are 
exempt  from  the  cultivator's  faille,  through  cultivating  their  do- 
mains themselves  or  by  a  steward.  In  Auvergne,4  in  the  single 
election-district  of  Clermont,  fifty  parishes  are  enumerated  in 

1  " Proces- verbaux  de  1'ass.  prov.  de  Soissonnais"  (1787),  p.  45.  Archives  rationales,  H, 
1515  (Remonstrances  of  the  Parliament  of  Metz,  1768).  "  The  class  of  indigents  form  more 
than  twelve-thirteenths  of  the  whole  number  of  villages  of  laborers  and  generally  those  of  th« 
wine-growers."  Ibid.  G,  319  (Tableau  des  directions  of  Chateaudun  and  Issoudun). 

*  Albert  Babeau,  I.  89.  p.  ai. 

*  "  Me'moires,"  presented  to  the  Assembly  of  Notables,  by  M.  de  Calonne  (1787),  p.  67. 

*  Gautier  de  Bianzat,  "  Doleances,"  193,  225.     "  Proces-verbaux  de  1'ass.  prov.  de  Pofcou* 
(1787),  p.  99. 


CHAP.  II.  THE  PEOPLE.  363 

which,  owing  to  this  arrangement,  every  e?;ate  of  a  privileged 
person  is  exempt,  the  taille  falling  wholly  on  those  subject  to  it. 
Furthermore,  it  suffices  for  a  privileged  person  to  maintain  that 
his  farmer  is  only  a  steward,  which  is  the  case  in  Poitou  in  several 
parishes,  the  subdelegate  and  the  £lu  not  daring  to  look  into  the 
matter  too  closely.  In  this  way  the  privileged  classes  escape  the 
taille,  they  and  their  property,  including  their  farms.  Now,  the 
taille,  ever  augmenting,  is  that  which  provides,  through  its  special 
delegations,  such  a  vast  number  of  new  offices.  A  man  of  the 
Third-Estate  has  merely  to  run  through  the  history  of  its  period- 
ical increase  to  see  how  it  alone,  or  almost  alone,  paid  and  is  pay- 
ing l  for  the  construction  of  bridges,  roads,  canals  and  courts  of  jus- 
tice, for  the  purchase  of  offices,  for  the  establishment  and  support 
of  houses  of  refuge,  insane  asylums,  nurseries,  post-houses  for 
horses,  fencing  and  riding  schools,  for  paving  and  sweeping  Paris, 
for  salaries  of  lieutenants-general,  governors,  and  provincial  com- 
manders, for  the  fees  of  bailiffs,  seneschals  and  vice-bailiffs,  for 
the  salaries  of  financial  and  election  officials  and  of  commission- 
ers despatched  to  the  provinces,  for  those  of  the  police  of  the 
watch  and  I  know  not  how  many  other  purposes.  In  the  prov- 
inces which  hold  assemblies,  where  the  taille  would  seem  to  be 
more  justly  apportioned,  the  like  inequality  is  found.  In  Bur- 
gundy2 the  expenses  of  the  police,  of  public  festivities,  of  keep- 
ing horses,  all  sums  appropriated  to  the  courses  of  lectures  on 
chemistry,  botany,  anatomy  and  parturition,  to  the  encourage- 
ment of  the  arts,  to  subscriptions  to  the  chancellorship,  to  frank- 
ing letters,  to  presents  given  to  the  chiefs  and  subalterns  of  com- 
mands, to  salaries  of  officials  of  the  provincial  assemblies,  to  me 
ministerial  secretaryship,  to  expenses  of  levying  taxes  and  even 
alms,  in  short,  1,800,000  livres  expended  in  the  public  service  at 
the  charge  of  the  Third-Estate,  the  two  higher  orders  not  paying 
a  cent. 

In  the  second  place,  with  respect  to  the  poll-tax,  originally  dis- 
tributed among  twenty-two  classes  and  intended  to  bear  equally 
on  all  according  to  fortunes,  we  know  that,  from  the  first,  <^e 
clergy  buy  themselves  off,  and,  as  to  the  nobles,  they  manage 

>  Gautier  de  Bianzat,  ibid. 

•Archives  rationales,  the  proces-verbaux  and  cahiers  of  the  States-General,  V.  59.  p.  & 
(Letter  of  M.  Orgeux  to  M  Necker),  t  27.  p.  560-573.  (Cahiers  of  the  Third-Estate  of 
Anuiy-le-Duc). 


364  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  v. 

so  well  as  to  have  their  tax  reduced  proportionately  with  its  in- 
crease at  the  expense  of  the  Third-Estate.  A  count  or  a  marquis, 
an  intendant  or  a  master  of  requests,  with  40,000  livres  income, 
who,  according  to  the  tariff  of  1695,*  should  pay  from  1,700  to 
2,500  livres,  pays  only  400  livres,  while  a  bourgeois  with  6,000 
livres  income  and  who,  according  to  the  same  tariff  should  pay 
70  livres,  pays  720.  The  poll-tax  of  the  privileged  individual  is 
thus  diminished  three-quarters  or  five-sixths,  while  that  of  the 
rtM'/&-payer  has  increased  tenfold.  In  the  Ile-de-France,2  on  an 
income  of  240  livres,  the  A«7&-payer  pays  twenty-one  livres  eight 
sous,  and  the  nobles  three  livres,  and  the  intendant  himself  states 
that  he  taxes  the  nobles  only  an  eightieth  of  their  revenue ;  that 
of  Orle*anais  taxes  them  only  a  hundredth,  while,  on  the  other 
hand,  those  subject  to  the  faille  are  assessed  the  eleventh.  If 
other  privileged  parties  are  added  to  the  nobles,  such  as  officers 
of  justice,  employe's  of  the  fermes,  and  exempted  townsmen, 
a  group  is  formed  embracing  nearly  everybody  rich  or  well-off 
and  whose  revenue  certainly  greatly  surpasses  that  of  those  who 
are  subject  to  the  faille.  Now,  the  budgets  of  the  provincial  as- 
semblies inform  us  how  much  each  province  levies  on  each  of 
the  two  groups :  in  the  Lyonnais  district  those  subject  to  the 
faille  pay  898,000  livres,  the  privileged,  190,000;  in  the  Ile-de- 
France,  the  former  pay  2,689,000  livres  and  the  latter  232,000; 
in  the  generalship  of  Alengon,  the  former  pay  1,067,000  livres 
and  the  latter  122,000;  in  Champagne,  the  former  pay  1,377,000 
livres,  and  the  latter  199,000;  in  Haute-Guyenne,  the  former  pay 
1,268,000  livres,  and  the  latter  61,000;  in  the  generalship  of 
Auch,  the  former  pay  797,000  livres,  the  privileged  21,000;  in 
Auvergne  the  former  pay  1,753,000  livres  and  the  latter  86,000; 
in  short,  summing  up  the  total  of  ten  provinces,  11,636,000  livres 
paid  by  the  poor  group  and  1,450,000  livres  by  the  rich  group, 
the  latter  paying  eight  times  less  than  it  ought  to  pay. 

With  respect  to  the  vingttimes,  the  disproportion  is  less,  the  pre- 
cise amounts  not  being  attainable;  we  may  nevertheless  assume 
that  the  assessment  of  the  privileged  class  is  about  one-half  of 

1  In  these  figures  the  rise  of  the  money  standard  has  been  kept  in  mind,  the  silver  "  marc," 

worth  29  francs  in  1695,  being  worth  49  francs  during  the  last  half  of  the  eighteenth  century. 

*  "Proces-verbaox  de  1'ass.  prov.  de  l'Ile-de- France,"  132,  158;  " de  I'OrleanaU," 


n.  THE  PEOPLE.  365 

what  it  should  be.  "In  1772,"  says1^!.  de  Calonne,  "it  was 
admitted  that  the  vingt&mes  were  not  carried  to  their  full  value. 
False  declarations,  counterfeit  leases,  too  favorable  conditions 
granted  to  almost  all  the  wealthy  proprietors  gave  rise  to  inequal- 
ities and  countless  errors.  A  verification  of  4,902  parishes  shows 
that  the  product  of  the  two  vingtiemes  amounting  to  54,000,000 
should  have  amounted  to  81,000,000."  A  seigniorial  domain 
which,  according  to  its  own  return  of  income,  should  pay  2,400 
livres,  pays  only  1,216.  The  case  is  much  worse  with  the  princes 
of  the  blood ;  we  have  seen  that  their  domains  are  exempt  and 
pay  only  188,000  livres  instead  of  2,400,000.  Under  this  sys- 
tem, which  crushes  the  weak  to  relieve  the  strong,  the  more  cap- 
able one  is  of  contributing,  the  less  one  contributes.  The  same 
story  characterizes  the  fourth  and  last  direct  impost,  namely,  the 
tax  substituted  for  the  corvte.  This  tax  attached,  at  first,  to  the 
mngtiemes  and  consequently  extending  to  all  proprietors,  through 
an  act  of  the  Council  is  attached  to  the  faille  and,  consequently, 
bears  on  those  the  most  burdened.2  Now  this  tax  amounts  to  an 
extra  of  one-quarter  added  to  the  principal  of  the  faille,  of  which 
one  example  may  be  cited,  that  of  Champagne,  where,  on  every 
100  livres  income  the  sum  of  six  livres  five  sous  devolves  on  the 
to///<?-payer.  "Thus,"  says  the  provincial  assembly,  "  every  road 
impaired  by  active  commerce,  by  the  multiplied  coursings  of  the 
rich,  is  repaired  wholly  by  the  contributions  of  the  poor." 

As  these  figures  spread  out  before  the  eye  we  involuntarily  re- 
cur to  the  two  animals  in  the  fable,  the  horse  and  the  mule  trav- 
elling together  on  the  same  road ;  the  horse,  by  right,  may  prance 
along  as  he  pleases ;  hence  his  load  is  gradually  transferred  to  the 
mule,  the  beast  of  burden,  which  finally  sinks  beneath  the  extra 
load. 

Not  only,  in  the  corps  of  tax-payers,  are  the  privileged  disbur- 
dened to  the  detriment  of  the  taxable,  but  again,  in  the  corps  of 
the  taxable,  the  rich  are  relieved  to  the  injury  of  the  poor,  to  sudi 
an  extent  that  the  heaviest  portion  of  the  load  finally  falls  on  the 
most  indigent  and  most  laborious  class,  on  the  small  proprietor 

i  "Me'moire,"  presented  to  the  Assembly  of  Notables  (1787),  p.  i.  See  note  a  at  the  end 
of  the  volume,  on  the  domain  of  Blet 

*  " Proces-verbaux  de  1'ass.  prov.  d' Alsace"  (1787),  p.  n6;  "  of  Champagne,"  193. 
(According  to  a  declaration  of  June  2,  1787,  the  tax  substituted  for  the  corvte  may  be  ex- 
tended to  one-sixth  of  the  faille,  with  accessory  taxes  and  tn>  poll-tax  combined).  "  De  k 
gene'ralite'  d'Alenpon,"  179 ;  " du  Berry,"  I.  aiS. 

3'* 


j66  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  v. 

cultivating  his  own  field,  on  the  simple  artisan  with  nothing  but 
his  tools  and  his  hands,  and,  in  general,  on  the  inhabitants  of  vi1- 
lages.  In  the  first  place,  in  the  matter  of  imposts,  a  number  of 
the  towns  are  "  abonne"es,"  or  free.  Compiegne,  for  the  faille  and 
its  accessories,  with  1,671  firesides,  pays  only  8,000  francs,  whilst 
one  of  the  villages  in  its  neighborhood,  Canly,  with  148  firesides, 
pays  4,475  francs.1  In  the  poll-tax,  Versailles,  Saint-Germain 
Beauvais,  Etampes,  Pontoise,  Saint-Denis,  Compiegne,  Fontaine- 
bleau,  taxed  in  the  aggregate  at  169,000  livres,  are  two-thirds  ex- 
empt, contributing  but  little  more  than  one  franc,  instead  of  three 
francs  ten  sous,  per  head  of  the  population ;  at  Versailles  it  is  still 
less,  since  for  70,000  inhabitants  the  poll-tax  amounts  to  only 
51,600  francs.2  Besides,  in  any  event,  on  the  apportionment  of 
a  tax,  the  bourgeois  of  the  town  is  favored  above  his  rural  neigh- 
bors. Accordingly,  "  the  inhabitants  of  the  country,  who  depend 
on  the  town  and  are  comprehended  in  its  functions,  are  treated 
with  a  rigor  of  which  it  would  be  difficult  to  form  an  idea.  .  .  . 
Town  influence  is  constantly  throwing  the  burden  on  those  who 
are  trying  to  be  relieved  of  it,  the  richest  of  citizens  paying  less 
faille  than  the  'most  miserable  of  the  peasant  farmers."  Hence, 
"  a  horror  of  the  faille  depopulates  the  rural  districts,  concentrat- 
ing in  the  towns  both  capacity  and  capital." 3  Outside  of  the  towns 
there  is  the  same  inequality.  Each  year,  the  e"lus  and  their  col- 
lectors, exercising  arbitrary  power,  fix  the  tattle  of  the  parish  and 
of  each  inhabitant.  In  these  ignorant  and  partial  hands  the  scales 
are  not  held  by  equity  but  by  self-interest,  local  hatreds,  the  desire 
for  revenge,  the  necessity  of  favoring  some  friend,  relative,  neigh- 
bor, protector,  or  patron,  some  powerful  or  some  dangerous  per- 
son. The  intendant  of  Moulins,  on  visiting  his  generalship,  finds 
"  people  of  influence  paying  nothing,  while  the  poor  are  over- 
charged." That  of  Dijon  writes  that  "  the  basis  of  apportionment 
is  arbitrary,  to  such  an  extent  that  the  people  of  the  province  must 
not  be  allowed  to  suffer  any  longer."  In  the  generalship  of  Rouen 
"  some  parishes  pay  over  four  sous  the  livre  and  others  scarcely 
one  sou."4  "  For  three  years  past  that  I  have  lived  in  the  coun- 

1  Archives  rationales,  G,  322  (Memoir  on  the  excise  dues  of  Compiegne  and  its  neighbor- 
hood, 1786). 

*  "Proces-verbaux  de  1'ass.  prov.  de  1'Ile-de-France,"  p.  104. 

•  "Proces-verbaux  de  1'ass.  prov.  de  Berry,  I.  85,  II.  91.     " de  1'OrManais,  p.  225." 

"  Arbitrariness,  injustice,  inequality,  are  inseparable  from  the  tattle  when  any  change  of  cot 
lector  takes  place." 

«  "Proces-verbaux  de  1'ass.  prov.  de  la  ge'nerallte'  de  Reuen,"  p.  91. 


CHAP.  ii.  THE  PEOPLE.  367 

try,"  writes  a  lady  of  the  same  district,  "  I  have  remarked  that 
most  of  the  wealthy  proprietors  are  the  least  pressed;  they  are 
selected  to  make  the  apportionment  and  the  people  are  always 
abused." !  "  I  live  on  an  estate  ten  leagues  from  Paris,"  wrote 
d'Argenson,  "  where  an  effort  is  made  to  assess  the  faille  propor- 
tionately, but  only  injustice  has  prevailed ;  the  seigniors  have  suc- 
ceeded in  relieving  their  farmers." 2  Besides  those  who,  through  fa- 
vor, diminish  their  faille,  others  buy  themselves  off  entirely.  An  in- 
tendant,  visiting  the  subdelegation  of  Bar-sur-Seine,  observes  "  that 
the  rich  cultivators  succeed  in  obtaining  petty  commissions  in  con- 
nection with  the  king's  household  and  enjoy  the  privileges  attached 
to  these,  which  throws  the  burden  of  taxation  on  the  others." 3 
"  One  of  the  leading  causes  of  our  prodigious  taxation,"  says  the 
provincial  assembly  of  Auvergne,  "  is  the  inconceivable  number 
of  the  privileged,  which  daily  increases  through  traffic  in  and  the 
assignment  of  offices;  cases  occur  in  which  these  have  ennobled 
six  families  in  less  than  twenty  years."  Should  this  abuse  con- 
tinue "  in  a  hundred  years  every  tax-payer  the  most  capable  of 
supporting  taxation  will  be  ennobled." 4  Observe,  moreover,  that 
an  infinity  of  offices  and  functions,  without  conferring  nobility, 
exempt  their  titularies  from  the  personal  faille  and  reduce  their 
poll-tax  to  the  fortieth  of  their  income ;  at  first,  all  public  func- 
tionaries, administrative  or  judicial,  and  next  all  employments  in 
the  salt-department,  in  the  customs,  in  the  post-office,  in  the  royal 
domains,  and  in  the  excise.5  "  There  are  few  parishes,"  writes  an 
intendant,  "in  which  these  employe's  are  not  found,  while  several 
contain  as  many  as  two  or  three."6  A  postmaster  is  exempt 
from  the  faille,  in  all  his  possessions  and  offices,  and  even  on  his 
farms  to  the  extent  of  a  hundred  arfents.  The  notaries  of  .\n- 
gouleme  are  exempt  from  the  corvte,  from  collections,  and  the 
lodging  of  soldiers,  while  neither  their  sons  or  chief  clerks  can  be 
drafted  in  the  militia.  On  closely  examining  the  great  fiscal  net 
in  administrative  correspondence,  we  detect  at  every  step  some 

«  Hippeau,  VI.  22  (1788). 
1  D'Argenson,  VI.  37. 

•  Archives  nationales,  H.  200  (Memoir  of  M.  Amelot,  1785). 
4  "  Proces-verbaux  de  1'ass.  prov.  d' Auvergne,"  253. 

•  Boivin-Champeaux,  "Doleances  delaparvissede  Tilleul-Lamoert "  (Eure).     "Numbers 
of  privileged  characters,  Messieurs  of  the  elections,  Messieurs  the  post-masters,  Messieurs 
the  presidents  and  other  attaches  of  the  salt- warehouse,  every  individual  possessing  extensivt 
property  pays  but  a  third  or  a  half  of  the  taxes  they  ought  to  pay." 

•  De  Tocqueville,  385.     "  Proccs-vevbaux  de  1'ass.  prov.  de  Lyonuais,"  p.  56. 


368  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  v. 

meshes  by  which,  with  slight  effort  and  industry,  all  the  big  and 
average-sized  fish  escape ;  the  small  fry  alone  remain  at  the  bot- 
com  of  the  scoop.  A  surgeon  not  an  apothecary,  a  man  of  good 
family  forty-five  years  old,  in  commerce,  but  living  with  his  par- 
ent and  in  a  province  with  a  written  code,  escapes  the  collector. 
The  same  immunity  is  extended  to  the  begging  agents  of  the 
monks  of  "la  Merci"  and  "  L'Etroite  Observance."  Throughout 
the  South  and  the  East  individuals  in  easy  circumstances  purchase 
this  commission  of  beggar  for  a  "Zouis"  or  for  ten  crowns,  and, 
putting  three  livres  in  a  cup,  go  about  presenting  it  in  this  or  that 
parish : 1  ten  of  the  inhabitants  of  a  small  mountain  village  and 
five  inhabitants  in  the  little  village  of  Treignac  obtain  their  dis- 
charge in  this  fashion.  Consequently,  "  the  collections  fall  on  the 
poor,  always  powerless  and  often  insolvent,"  the  privileged  who 
effect  the  ruin  of  the  tax-payer  causing  the  deficiencies  of  the 
treasury. 

VII. 

One  word  more  to  complete  the  picture.  People  take  refuge 
in  the  towns  and,  indeed,  compared  with  the  country,  the  towns 
are  a  refuge.  But  misery  accompanies  the  poor,  for,  on  the  one 
hand,  they  are  involved  in  debt,  and,  on  the  other,  the  coterie 
administering  municipal  affairs  imposes  taxation  on  the  indigent. 
The  towns  being  oppressed  by  the  fisc,  they  oppress  the  people 
by  throwing  on  these  the  load  which  the  king  imposes  on 
them.  Seven  times  in  twenty-eight  years2  he  withdraws  and 
re-sells  the  right  of  appointing  their  municipal  officers,  and,  to  get 
rid  of  "this  enormous  financial  burden,"  the  towns  double  their 
octrois.  At  present,  although  liberated,  they  still  make  payment ; 
the  annual  charge  has  become  a  perpetual  charge;  never  does 
the  fisc  release  its  hold ;  once  beginning  to  suck  it  continues  to 
suck.  "Hence,  in  Brittany,"  says  an  intendant,  "not  a  town  is 
there  whose  expenses  are  not  greater  than  its  revenue."*  They 
are  unable  to  mend  their  pavements,  and  repair  their  streets,  "  the 
approaches  to  them  being  almost  impracticable."  What  could 

1  Archives  nationales,  H,  1422.  (Letters  of  M.  d'Aine,  intendant,  also  of  the  recei/er  fbi 
die  election  of  Tulle,  February  23,  1783). 

1  De  Tocqu-ville,  64,  363. 

*  Archives  nationales,  H,  612,  614.  (Letters  of  M.  de  la  Bove,  September  n,  and  Dec.  a 
*774!  June  28,  1777). 


CHAP.  n.  THE  PEOPLE.  369 

they  do  for  self-support,  obliged,  as  they  are,  to  pay  over 
again  after  having  already  paid  ?  Their  augmented  octrois,  in 
1748,  ought  to  furnish  in  eleven  years  the  606,000  livres  agreed 
upon;  but,  the  eleven  years  having  lapsed,  the  satisfied  fisc  still 
maintains  its  exigencies,  and  to  such  an  extent  that,  in  1774,  they 
have  contributed  2,071,052  livres,  the  provisional  octroi  being 
still  maintained.  Now,  this  exorbitant  octroi  bears  heavily  every- 
where on  the  most  indispensable  necessities,  the  artisan  being 
more  heavily  burdened  than  the  bourgeois.  In  Paris,  as  we  have 
seen  above,  wine  pays  forty-seven  livres  a  puncheon  entrance 
duty  which,  at  the  present  standard  of  value,  must  be  doubled. 
"  A  turbot,  taken  on  the  coast  at  Harfleur  and  brought  by  post, 
pays  an  entrance  duty  of  eleven  times  its  value  ;  the  people  of  the 
capital,  consequently,  are  condemned  to  dispense  with  fish  from 
the  sea."  '  At  the  gates  of  Paris,  in  the  little  parish  of  Aubervil- 
Hers,  I  find  "  excessive  duties  on  hay,  straw,  seeds,  tallow,  candles, 
eggs,  sugar,  fish,  faggots  and  firewood." 2  Compiegne  pays  the 
whole  amount  of  its  faille  by  means  of  a  tax  on  beverages  and 
cattle.3  "  In  Toul  and  in  Verdun  the  taxes  are  so  onerous  that 
but  few  consent  to  remain  in  the  town,  except  those  kept  there  by 
their  offices  and  by  old  habits."  4  At  Coulommiers, "  the  merchants 
and  the  people  are  so  severely  taxed  they  dread  undertaking  any 
enterprise."  Popular  hatred  everywhere  is  profound  against  oc- 
troi, barrier  and  clerk.  The  bourgeois  oligarchy  everywhere 
first  cares  for  itself  before  caring  for  those  it  governs.  At  Nevers 
and  at  Moulins,5  "all  rich  persons  find  means  to  escape  the  col- 
lections by  different  commissions,  or  through  their  influence  with 
the  Mus,  to  such  an  extent  that  the  collectors  of  Nevers,  of  the 
present  and  preceding  year,  would  be  considered  true  beggars : 
there  are  no  small  villages  whose  collectors  are  solvent,  since  the 
me*tayers  have  to  be  taken."  At  Angers,  "independent  of  pres- 
ents and  candles,  which  annually  consume  2,172  livies,  the  public 
pence  are  employed  and  wasted  in  clandestine  outlays  according 
to  the  fancy  of  the  municipal  officers."  In  Provence,  where  the 
communities  are  free  to  tax  themselves  and  where  they  ought, 
apparently,  to  consider  the  poor,  "  most  of  the  towns,  and  notably 

1  Mercier,  II.  62. 

*  "Dole'ances"  of  the  parish  of  AubervilUws. 
Archives  nationales,  G,  300;  G,  322  ("Me'moires"  on  the  excise  duties). 

*  "  Proces-verbaux  de  1'ass.  prov.  des  Trois-EvSchfa,"  p.  442. 
Archives  nationales,  H,  1423  (Letter  of  the  intendant  of  Moulins,  April  1779). 


370  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  y, 

Aix,  Marseilles  and  Toulon,1  pay  their  impositions,"  local  and  gen- 
eral, "only  by  the  duty  of  piquet."  This  is  a  tax  "on  all  species 
of  flour  belonging  to  and  consumed  on  the  territory ; "  for  exam- 
ple, on  254,897  livres,  which  Toulon  expends,  the  fifftteffannsbea 
233,405.  Thus  the  taxation  falls  wholly  on  the  people,  while  the 
bishop,  the  marquis,  the  president,  the  merchant  of  importance 
pay  less  on  their  dinner  of  delicate  fish  and  becaficos  than  the 
caulker  or  porter  on  his  two  pounds  of  bread  rubbed  with  a  piece 
of  garlic !  Bread  in  this  country  is  already  too  dear !  And  the 
quality  is  so  poor  that  Malouet,  the  intendant  of  the  marine,  re- 
fuses to  let  his  workmen  eat  it!  "Sire,"  said  M.  de  la  Fare, 
bishop  of  Nancy,  from  his  pulpit,  May  4th,  1789,  "Sire,  the 
people  over  which  you  reign  has  given  unmistakable  proofs  of  its 
patience.  .  .  .  They  are  martyrs  in  whom  life  seems  to  have  been 
allowed  to  remain  to  enable  them  to  suffer  the  longer." 

VIII. 

"I  am  miserable  because  too  much  is  taken  from  me.  Too 
much  is  taken  from  me  because  not  enough  is  taken  from  the 
privileged.  Not  only  do  the  privileged  force  me  to  pay  in  their 
place,  but,  again,  they  previously  deduct  from  my  earnings  their 
ecclesiastic  and  feudal  dues.  When,  out  of  my  income  of  100 
francs,  I  have  parted  with  fifty-three  francs,  and  more,  to  the  col- 
lector, I  am  obliged  again  to  give  fourteen  francs  to  the  seignior, 
also  more  than  fourteen  for  tithes,2  and,  out  of  the  remaining  eigh- 
teen or  nineteen  francs,  I  have  additionally  to  satisfy  the  excisemen. 
I  alone,  a  poor  man,  pay  two  governments,  one  the  old  govern- 
ment, local  and  now  absent,  useless,  inconvenient  and  humiliating, 
and  active  only  through  annoyances,  exemptions  and  taxes ;  and 
the  other,  recent,  centralized,  everywhere  present,  which,  taking 
upon  itself  all  functions,  has  vast  needs  and  makes  my  meagre 
shoulders  support  its  enormous  weight."  These,  in  precise  terms, 
are  the  vague  ideas  beginning  to  ferment  in  the  popular  brain 

1  Archives  nationales,  H,  1312  (Letters  cf  M.  d'Antheman  procureur-ge'ne'ral  of  the  excise 
court  (May  19,  1783),  and  of  the  Arch-bishop  of  Aix  (June  15,  1783).)  Provence  produced 
wheat  only  sufficient  for  seven  and  a  half  months'  consumption. 

*  The  feudal  dues  may  be  estimated  at  a  seventh  of  the  net  income  and  the  dime  also  at  a 
icventh.  These  are  the  figures  given  by  the  ass.  prov.  of  Haute-Guyenne  (Proces-verbaux, 
p.  47).  Isolated  instances,  in  other  provinces,  indicate  similar  results.  The  dime  ranget 
from  a  tenth  to  the  thirteenth  of  the  gross  product,  and  commonly  the  tenth.  I  regard  th« 
average  as  about  the  fourteenth,  and  as  one-half  of  the  gross  product  must  be  deducted  foi 
expenses  of  cultivation,  it  amounts  to  one-seventh.  Letrosne  says  a  fifth  and  even  a  quarter 


CHAP.  n.  THE  PEOPLE.  371 

and  encountered  on  every  page  of  the  records  of  die  States- 
General.  "Would  to  God,"  says  a  Normandy  village,1  "the 
monarch  might  take  into  his  own  hands  the  defence  of  the  miser- 
able citizen  pelted  and  oppressed  by  clerks,  seigniors,  justiciary 
and  clergy ! "  "Sire,"  writes  a  village  in  Champagne,2  "the  only 
message  to  us  on  your  part  is  a  demand  for  money.  We  were 
led  to  believe  that  this  might  cease,  but  every  year  the  demand 
comes  for  more.  We  do  not  hold  you  responsible  for  this  be- 
cause we  love  you,  but  those  whom  you  employ,  who  better  know 
how  to  manage  their  own  affairs  than  yours.  We  believed  that 
you  were  deceived  by  them  and  we  in  our  chagrin  said  to  our- 
selves, If  our  good  king  only  knew  of  this !  .  .  .  We  are  crushed 
down  with  every  species  of  taxation ;  thus  far  we  have  given  you 
a  part  of  our  bread  and,  should  this  continue,  we  shall  be  in 
want.  .  .  .  Could  you  see  the  miserable  tenements  in  which  we 
live,  the  poor  food  we  eat,  you  would  feel  for  us ;  this  would 
prove  to  you  better  than  words  that  we  can  support  this  no 
longer  and  that  it  must  be  lessened.  .  .  .  That  which  grieves  us 
is  that  those  who  possess  the  most,  pay  the  least.  We  pay  the 
tailles  and  for  our  implements,  while  the  ecclesiastics  and  nobles 
who  own  the  best  land  pay  nothing.  Why  do  the  rich  pay  the 
least  and  the  poor  the  most  ?  Should  not  each  pay  according  to 
his  ability  ?  Sire,  we  entreat  that  things  may  be  so  arranged,  for 
that  is  just.  .  .  .  Did  we  dare,  we  should  undertake  to  plant  the 
slopes  with  vines ;  but  we  are  so  persecuted  by  the  clerks  of  the 
excise  we  would  rather  pull  up  those  already  planted ;  the  wine 
that  we  could  make  would  all  go  to  them,  scarcely  any  of  it 
remaining  for  ourselves.  These  exactions  are  a  great  scourge 
and,  to  escape  them,  we  would  rather  let  the  ground  lie  waste. 
.  .  .  Relieve  us  of  all  these  extortions  and  of  the  excisemen ;  we 
are  great  sufferers  through  all  these  devices;  now  is  the 
time  to  change  them ;  never  shall  we  be  happy  as  long  as  these 
last.  We  entreat  all  this  of  you,  Sire,  along  with  others  of  your 
subjects  as  wearied  as  ourselves.  .  .  .  We  would  entreat  yet 
more  but  you  cannot  do  all  at  one  time."  Imposts  aim  privileges, 
in  the  really  popular  memorials,  are  the  two  enemies  against 
which  complaints  everywhere  arise.3  "  We  are  overwhelmed  by 

i  Boivin-Champeaux,  72. 

*  Grievances  of  the  community  of  Culmon  (Election  de  Langres.) 

1  Boivin-Champeaux,  34,  36,  41,  48.  P£rin  ("  Doleances  de sparoisses  ruiales  de  TArtoU," 
301,  308).  Archives  nation  Acs,  proces-verbaax  and  cahiers  of  th«  States-G£n6raux,  v.  XVIL 
p.  la  (Letter  ot  the  inhabitants  of  Darcy-de-Viteux). 


372  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  v, 

demands  for  subsidies,  ...  we  are  burdened  with  taxes  beyond 
our  strength,  ...  we  do  not  feel  able  to  support  any  more,  .  .  , 
we  perish,  overpowered  by  the  sacrifices  demanded  of  us.  ... 
Labor  is  taxed  while  indolence  is  exempt.  .  .  .  Feudalism  is  the 
most  disastrous  of  abuses,  the  evils  it  causes  surpassing  those  of 
hail  and  lightning.  .  .  .  Subsistence  is  impossible  if  three-quarters 
of  the  crops  are  to  be  taken  for  field-rents,  terrage,  etc.  .  .  .  The 
proprietor  has  a  fourth  part,  the  decimateur  a  twelfth,  the  har- 
vester a  twelfth,  taxation  a  tenth,  not  counting  the  depredations 
of  vast  quantities  of  game  which  devour  the  growing  crops : 
nothing  is  left  for  the  poor  cultivator  but  pain  and  sorrow."  Why 
should  the  Third-Estate  alone  pay  for  roads  on  which  the  nobles 
and  the  clergy  drive  in  their  carriages  ?  Why  are  the  poor  alone 
subject  to  militia  draftings?  Why  does  "the  subdelegate  cause 
only  the  defenceless  and  the  unprotected  to  be  drafted  ?  "  Why 
does  it  suffice  to  be  the  servant  of  a  privileged  person  to  escape 
this  service?  Destroy  those  dove-cotes,  formerly  only  small 
pigeon-pens  and  which  now  contain  as  many  as  five  thousand 
pairs.  Abolish  the  barbarous  rights  of  "motte,  quevaise  and 
domaine  congeable *  under  which  more  than  five  hundred  thousand 
persons  still  suffer  in  Lower  Brittany."  "You  have  in  your 
armies,  Sire,  more  than  thirty  thousand  Franche-Comt6  serfs ; " 
should  one  of  these  become  an  officer  and  be  pensioned  out 
of  the  service  he  would  be  obliged  to  return  to  and  live  in  the 
hut  in  which  he  was  born;  otherwise,  at  his  death,  the  seignior 
will  take  his  pittance.  Let  there  be  no  more  absentee  prelates, 
nor  abb6s-commendatory.  "The  present  deficit  is  not  to  be  paid 
by  us  but  by  the  bishops  and  beneficiaries ;  deprive  the  princes 
of  the  church  of  two-thirds  of  their  revenues."  "  Let  feudalism 
be  abolished.  Man,  the  peasant  especially,  is  tyrannically  bowed 
down  to  the  impoverished  ground  on  which  he  lies  exhausted. 
.  .  .  There  is  no  freedom,  no  prosperity,  no  happiness  where  the 
soil  is  enthralled.  .  .  .  Let  the  lord's  dues,  and  other  odious 
taxes  not  feudal,  be  abolished,  a  thousand  times  returned  to  the 
privileged.  Let  feudalism  content  itself  with  its  iron  sceptre 
without  adding  the  poniard  of  the  revenue  speculator."  2  Here, 

1  Motte;  a  mound  indicative  of  seigniorial  dominion;  quevaise:  the  right  of  forcing  a 
resident  to  remain  on  his  property  under  penalty  of  forfeiture ;  domaine  congtable  :  property 
held  subject  to  capricious  ejection. 

*  Frud'homme,  "  Re'sume'  des  cahiers,"  III.  fassim.,  and  especially  from  j\j  to  340, 


UHAP.  n.  THE  PEOPLE.  373 

and  for  some  time  before  this,  it  is  not  the  countryman  who 
speaks  but  the  procureur,  the  lawyer,  who  places  professional 
metaphors  and  theories  at  his  service.     But  the  lawyer  has  simply 
translated  the  countryman's  sentiments  into  literary  dialect. 
S* 


CHAPTER  III. 

INTELLECTUAL  STATE  OF  THE  PEOPLE. — I.  Intellectual  incapacity. — Ho* 
ideas  are  transformed  into  marvellous  stories. — II.  Political  incapacity.— 
Interpretation  of  political  rumors  and  of  government  action. — III.  Destruc- 
tive impulses. — The  object  of  blind  rage. — Distrust  of  natural  leaders. — 
Suspicion  of  them  changed  into  hatred. — Disposition  of  the  people  in  1 789. 
— IV.  Insurrectionary  leaders  and  recruits. — Poachers. — Smugglers  and 
dealers  in  contraband  salt. — Banditti. — Beggars  and  vagabonds. — Advent  of 
brigands. — The  people  of  Paris. 

I. 

To  comprehend  their  actions  we  ought  now  to  look  into  the 
condition  of  their  minds,  to  know  the  current  train  of  their  ideas, 
their  mode  of  thinking.  But,  is  it  really  essential  to  draw  this 
portrait,  and  are  not  the  details  of  their  mental  condition  we  have 
just  presented  sufficient  ?  We  shall  obtain  a  knowledge  of  them 
later,  and  through  their  actions,  when,  in  Touraine,  they  come  to 
bestowing  kicks  with  their  sabots  on  a  mayor  and  his  assistant 
chosen  by  themselves,  because,  in  obeying  the  National  Assembly, 
these  two  unfortunate  men  prepared  a  table  of  imposts ;  or  when, 
at  Troyes,  they  drag  through  the  streets  and  tear  to  pieces  the 
venerable  magistrate  who  was  nourishing  them  at  that  very 
moment,  and  who  had  just  dictated  his  testament  in  their  favor. 

Take  the  still  rude  brain  of  one  of  our  peasants  and  deprive 
it  of  the  ideas  which,  for  eighty  years  past,  have  entered  it  by  so 
many  channels,  through  the  primary  school  of  each  village, 
through  the  return  home  of  the  conscript  after  his  seven  years' 
service,  through  the  prodigious  multiplication  of  books,  news- 
papers, roads,  railroads,  foreign  travel  and  every  other  species  of 
communication.1  Try  to  imagine  the  peasant  of  that  epoch, 

1  Th€ron  de  Montaugl,  109,  113.  In  the  Toulousain  ten  parishes  out  of  fifty  have  school* 
In  Gascony,  says  the  ass.  prov.  of  Auch  (p.  24),  "  most  of  the  rural  districts  are  without 
schoolmasters  or  parsonages."  In  1778,  the  post  between  Paris  and  Toulouse  runs  only  tlm* 


cifAP.  in.  THE  PEOPLE.  375 

peni>ed  and  sh;t  up  from  father  to  son  In  his  hamlet,  without 
parish  highways,  deprived  of  news,  with  no  instruction  but  the 
Sunday  sermon,  solicitous  only  for  his  daily  bread  and  the  im- 
posts, "  with  his  wretched,  dried-up  aspect," 1  not  daring  to  repair 
his  house,  always  persecuted,  distrustful,  his  mind  contracted  and 
stinted,  so  to  say,  by  misery.  His  condition  is  almost  that  of 
his  ox  or  his  ass,  while  his  ideas  are  those  of  his  condition.  He 
has  been  a  long  time  stolid;  "he  lacks  even  instinct,"2  mechan- 
ically and  fixedly  regarding  the  ground  on  which  he  drags  along 
his  hereditary  plough.  In  1751,  d'Argenson  wrote  in  his  journal: 
"  nothing  in  the  news  from  the  court  affects  them ;  the  reign  is 
indifferent  to  them.  .  .  .  The  distance  between  the  capital  and 
the  province  daily  widens.  .  .  .  Here  they  are  ignorant  of  the 
striking  occurrences  that  most  impressed  us  at  Paris.  .  .  .  The 
inhabitants  of  the  country  are  merely  poverty-stricken  slaves, 
draft  cattle  under  a  yoke,  moving  on  as  they  are  goaded,  caring  t 
for  nothing  and  embarassed  by  nothing,  provided  they  can  eat 
and  sleep  at  regular  hours."  They  make  no  complaints,  "  they  do 
not  even  dream  of  complaining;"3  their  wretchedness  seems  to 
them  natural  like  winter  or  hail.  Their  minds,  like  their  agricult- 
ure, still  belong  to  the  middle  ages.  In  the  Toulousain,4  to 
ascertain  who  committed  a  robbery,  to  cure  a  man  or  a  sick 
animal,  they  resort  to  a  sorcerer  who  divines  this  by  means  of  a 
sieve.  The  countryman  fully  believes  in  ghosts  and,  on  All 
Saints'  eve,  he  lays  the  cloth  for  the  dead.  In  Auvergne,  at  the 
outbreak  of  the  Revolution,  on  a  contagious  fever  making  its  ap- 
pearance, M.  de  Montlosier,  declared  to  be  a  sorcerer,  is  the 
cause  of  it  and  two  hundred  men  assemble  together  to  demolish 
his  dwelling.  Their  religious  belief  is  on  the  same  level.5  "  Their 
priests  drink  with  them  and  sell  them  absolution.  On  Sundays, 
at  the  sermon,  they  put  up  lieutenancies  and  sub-lieutenancies 
(among  the  saints)  for  sale:  so  much  for  a  lieutenant's  place 
under  St.  Peter !  If  the  peasant  hesitates  in  his  bid  a  eulogy  of 

times  a  week;  that  of  Toulouse  by  way  of  Alby,  Rodez,  etc.,  twice  a  week,  for  Beaumont, 
Saint-Girons,  etc.,  once  a  week.  "In  the  country,"  says  Th6ron  de  Montauge',  "one  may 
be  said  to  live  in  solitude  and  exile."  In  1789  the  Paris  post  reaches  Besangon  three  times 
*  week.  (Arthur  Young,  I.  237). 

1  One  of  the  Marquis  de  Mirabeau's  expressions. 

1  Archives  nationales,  G,  300,  letter  cf  an  excise  director  at  Coulommiers,  Aug.  13,  1761. 

»  D'Argenson,  VI.  425  (June  16,  1751). 

*  De  Montlosier,  I.  102,  146. 

*  Th6ron  de  Montaugi  toa. 


376  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  v. 

St.  Peter  at  once  begins  and  then  our  peasants  run  it  up  fast 
enough."  To  intellects  in  a  primitive  state,  barren  of  ideas  and 
crowded  with  images,  idols  on  earth  are  as  essential  as  idols  in 
heaven.  "  No  doubt  whatever  existed  in  my  mind,"  says  R6tif 
de  la  Bretonne,1  "  of  the  power  of  the  king  to  compel  any  man 
to  bestow  his  wife  or  daughter  on  me,  and  my  village  (Sacy,  in 
Burgundy)  thought  as  I  did."2  There  is  no  room  in  minds  of 
this  description  for  abstract  conceptions,  for  any  idea  of  social 
order ;  they  are  submissive  to  it  and  that  is  all.  "  The  mass  of 
the  people,"  writes  Gouverneur  Morris  in  1789,  "  have  no  religion 
but  that  of  their  priests,  no  law  but  that  of  those  above  them,  no 
morality  but  that  of  self-interest ;  these  are  the  beings  who,  led 
on  by  drunken  curates,  are  now  on  the  high  road  to  liberty,  and 
the  first  use  they  make  of  it  is  to  rebel  on  all  sides  because  there 
is  a  dearth."  3 

How  could  things  be  otherwise?  Every  idea,  previous  to 
taking  root  in  their  brain,  must  possess  a  legendary  form,  as 
absurd  as  it  is  simple,  adapted  to  their  experiences,  their  faculties, 
their  fears  and  their  aspirations.  Once  planted  in  this  unculti- 
vated and  fertile  soil  it  vegetates  and  becomes  transformed,  de- 
veloping into  gross  excrescences,  sombre  foliage  and  poisonous 
fruit.  The  more  monstrous  the  greater  its  vigor,  clinging  to  the 
slightest  of  probabilities  and  tenacious  against  the  most  certain 
of  demonstrations.  Under  Louis  XV.,  in  an  arrest  of  vagabonds, 
a  few  children  having  been  carried  off  wilfully  or  by  mistake,  the 
rumor  spreads  that  the  king  takes  baths  in  blood  to  restore  his 
exhausted  functions,  and,  so  true  does  this  seem  to  be,  the  women, 
horrified  through  their  maternal  instincts,  join  in  the  riot;  a 
policeman  is  seized  and  knocked  down,  and,  on  his  demanding 
a  confessor,  a  woman  in  the  crowd  picking  up  a  stone,  cries  out 
that  he  must  not  have  time  to  go  to  heaven,  and  smashes  his 
head  with  it,  believing  that  she  is  performing  an  act  of  justice.4 
Under  Louis  XVI.  evidence  is  presented  to  the  people  that  there 
is  no  scarcity:  in  1789,*  an  officer,  listening  to  the  conversation 
of  his  soldiers,  hears  them  state  "  with  full  belief  that  the  princes 

1  Monsieur  Nicolas,  I.  448. 

»  "Tableaux  de  la  Revolution,"  by  Schmidt,  II.  7  (Report  by  the  agent  Perriere  who  Ihred 
In  Auvergne.) 

1  Gouvemeur  Morris,  II.  69,  April  29,  1780. 
«  Mercier,  "Tableau  de  Paris,"  XII.  83. 
'  De  Vaublanc,  209. 


CHAP.  in.  THE  PEOPLE.  377 

and  courtiers,  with  a  view  to  starve  Paris  out,  are  throwing  flour 
into  the  Seine."  Turning  to  a  quarter-master  he  asks  him  how  he 
can  possibly  believe  such  an  absurd  story.  "  Lieutenant,"  he  re- 
plies, "'tis  time — the  bags  were  tied  with  blue  strings  (cordons 
bleus)"  To  them  this  is  a  sufficent  reason  and  no  argument 
could  convince  them  to  the  contrary.  Thus,  among  the  dregs  of 
society,  foul  and  horrible  romances  are  forged,  in  connection  with 
famine  and  the  Bastille,  in  which  Louis  XVI.,  the  queen  Marie  An- 
toinette, the  Comte  d'Artois,  Madame  de  Lamballe,  the  Polignacs, 
the  revenue  farmers,  the  seigniors  and  ladies  of  high  rank  are 
portrayed  as  vampires  and  ghouls.  I  have  seen  many  editions 
of  these  in  the  pamphlets  of  the  day,  in  the  engravings  not  ex- 
hibited and  among  popular  prints  and  illustrations,  the  latter  the 
most  efficacious  since  they  appeal  to  the  eye.  They  surpass  the 
stories  of  Mandrin  and  Cartouche,  being  exactly  suitable  for 
men  whose  literature  consists  of  the  complaints  of  Mandrin  and 
Cartouche. 

II 

By  this  we  can  judge  of  their  political  intelligence.  Every  ob- 
ject appears  to  them  in  a  false  light;  they  are  like  children 
who,  at  each  turn  of  the  road,  see  in  each  tree  or  bush  some 
frightful  hobgoblin.  Arthur  Young,  on  visiting  the  springs  near 
Clermont,  is  arrested,1  and  the  people  want  to  imprison  a  woman, 
his  guide,  some  of  the  bystanders  regarding  him  as  "an  agent 
of  the  Queen,  who  intended  to  blow  the  town  up  with  a  mine, 
and  send  all  that  escaped  to  the  galleys."  Six  days  after  this, 
beyond  Puy,  and  notwithstanding  his  passport,  the  village  guard 
come  and  take  him  out  of  bed  at  eleven  o'clock  at  night,  declar- 
ing that  "  I  was  undoubtedly  a  conspirator  with  the  Queen,  the 
Count  d'Artois  and  the  Count  d'Entragues  (who  has  property 
here),  who  had  employed  me  as  arpenteur  to  measure  their  fields 
in  order  to  double  their  taxes."  We  here  take  the  unconscious, 
apprehensive,  popular  imagination  in  the  act ;  a  slight  indication, 
a  word,  prompting  the  construction  of  either  airy  castles  or  fan- 
tastic dungeons,  and  seeing  these  as  plainly  as  if  they  were  so 
many  substantial  realities.  They  have  not  the  inward  resources 
that  render  them  capable  of  separating  and  discerning;  their 

'  Arthur  Young,  I.  183  (Aug.  13,  1789) ;  I.  389  (Aug.  19, 1789). 
32* 


378  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  v 

conceptions  are  formed  in  a  lump  ;  both  object  and  fancy  appear 
together  and  are  united  in  one  single  perception.  At  the  mo- 
ment of  electing  deputies  the  report  is  current  in  Provence  *  that 
"the  best  of  kings  desires  perfect  equality,  that  there  are  to  be 
no  more  bishops,  nor  seigniors,  nor  tithes,  nor  seigniorial  dues, 
no  more  titles  or  distinctions,  no  more  hunting  or  fishing  rights, 
.  .  .  that  the  people  are  to  be  wholly  relieved  of  taxation,  and 
that  the  first  two  orders  alone  are  to  provide  the  expenses  of  the 
government."  Whereupon  forty  or  fifty  riots  take  place  in  one 
day.  "Several  communities  refuse  to  make  any  payments  to 
their  treasurer  outside  of  royal  requisitions."  Others  do  better : 
"  on  pillaging  the  strong-box  of  the  receiver  of  the  tax  on  leather 
at  Brignolles,  they  shout  out  Vive  le  Roi  !  "  "  The  peasant  con- 
stantly asserts  his  pillage  and  destruction  to  be  in  conformity 
with  the  king's  will."  A  little  later,  in  Auvergne,  the  peasants 
who  burn  castles  are  to  display  "  much  repugnance  "  in  thus  mal- 
treating "such  kind  seigniors,"  but  they  allege  "imperative  or- 
ders, having  been  advised  that  the  king  wished  it." 2  At  Lyons, 
when  the  tapsters  of  the  town  and  the  peasants  of  the  neighbor- 
hood pass  over  the  bodies  of  the  customs  officials  they  believe 
that  the  king  has  suspended  all  customs  dues  for  three  days.3 
The  scope  of  their  imagination  is  proportionate  to  their  short- 
sightedness. "  Bread,  no  more  rents,  no  more  taxes ! "  is  the  sole 
cry,  the  cry  of  want,  while  exasperated  want  plunges  ahead  like 
a  famished  bull.  Down  with  the  monopolist! — storehouses  are 
forced  open,  convoys  of  grain  are  stopped,  markets  are  pillaged, 
bakers  are  hung,  and  the  price  of  bread  is  fixed  so  that  none  is 
to  be  had  or  is  concealed.  Down  with  the  octroi  ! — barriers  are 
demolished,  clerks  are  beaten,  money  is  wanting  in  the  towns  for 
urgent  expenses.  Burn  tax  registries,  account-books,  municipal 
archives,  seigniors'  charter-safes,  convent  parchments,  every  de- 
testable document  creative  of  debtors  and  sufferers !  The  village 
itself  is  no  longer  able  to  preserve  its  parish  property.  The  rage 
against  any  written  document,  against  public  officers,  against  any 

1  Archives  nadonales,  H,  274.  Letters  respectively  of  M.  de  Caraman  (March  18  and 
April  12,  1789) ;  M.  d'Eymar  de  Montmegran  (April  2) ;  M.  de  la  Tour  (March  30).  "The 
wvereign's  greatest  benefit  is  interpreted  in  the  strangest  manner  by  an  ignorant  populace." 

*  Doniol,  "Hist  des  classes  r Tales,"  495.  (Letter  of  Aug.  3,  1789,  to  M.  de  Clermont- 
Tonncrre). 

«  Archives  nadonales,  H,  1453.  (Letter  of  Imbert  Colonnes,  prevdt  des  marchands,  dated 
July  5,  1789). 


CHAP.  ra.  THE  PEOPLE.  379 

man  more  or  less  connected  with  grain,  is  blind  ;xnd  determined 
f  he  furious  animal  destroys  all,  although  wounding  himself,  driv 
ing  and  roaring  against  the  obstacle  that  ought  to  be  outflanked 

III. 

This  is  owing  to  the  absence  of  leaders  and  to  the  absence  of 
organization,  a  multitude  being  simply  a  herd.  Its  mistrust  of 
its  natural  leaders,  of  the  great,  of  the  wealthy,  of  persons  in  of- 
fice and  clothed  with  authority,  is  inveterate  and  incurable. 
Vainly  do  these  wish  it  well  and  do  it  good;  it  has  no  faith  in 
their  humanity  or  disinterestedness.  It  has  been  too  do  wn- trodden ; 
it  entertains  prejudices  against  every  measure  proceeding  from 
them,  even  the  most  liberal  and  the  most  beneficial.  "At  the 
mere  mention  of  the  new  assemblies,"  says  a  provincial  commis- 
sion in  1787,*  "we  heard  a  workman  exclaim,  'What,  more  new 
extortioners ! ' "  Superiors  of  every  kind  are  suspected,  and  from 
suspicion  to  hostility  the  road  is  not  long.  In  1788*  Mercier  de- 
clares that  "  insubordination  has  been  manifest  for  some  years,  es- 
pecially among  the  trades.  .  .  .  Formerly,  on  entering  a  printing- 
office  the  men  took  off  their  hats.  Now  they  content  themselves 
with  staring  and  leering  at  you;  scarcely  have  you  crossed  the 
threshold  than  you  hear  yourself  more  lightly  spoken  of  than  if 
you  were  one  of  them."  The  same  attitude  is  taken  by  the  peas- 
ants in  the  environs  ot  Paris ;  Madame  Vige*e-Lebrun,3  on  going 
to  Romainville  to  visit  Marshal  de  Se"gur,  remarks :  "  Not  only 
do  they  not  remove  their  hats  but  they  regard  us  insolently ;  some 
of  them  even  threatened  us  with  clubs."  In  March  and  April 
following  this,  her  guests  arrive  at  her  concert  in  consternation, 
"  In  the  morning,  at  the  promenade  of  Longchamps,  the  populace, 
assembled  at  the  barrier  of  1'Etoile,  insulted  the  people  passing  by 
in  carriages  in  the  grossest  manner ;  some  of  these  wretches  jumped 
on  the  footsteps  exclaiming :  '  Next  year  you  shall  be  behind  the 
carriage  and  we  inside.'"  At  the  close  of  the  year  1788,  the 
stream  becomes  a  torrent  and  the  torrent  a  cataract.  An  intend- 
ant4  writes  that,  in  his  province,  the  government  must  decide,  and 

1  "  Proces-verbaux  de  1'ass.  prov.  de  1'Orle'anais,"  p.  296.  "  Distrust  still  prevails  through, 
out  the  rural  districts.  .  .  .  Your  first  orders  for  departmental  assemblies  only  awakened 
ruspicion  In  certain  quarters." 

»  "Tableau  de  Paris,"  XII.  186. 

1  Mme.  VigeVLebrun,  I.  158  (1788) ;  I.  183  (1789). 

«  Archives  nationales,  H,  723.  (Letter  of  M.  de  Caumartin,  btendaot  at  Besar^on,  De& 
5,  1788). 


380  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  v. 

in  the  popular  sense,  to  separate  from  privileged  classes,  abandon 
old  forms  and  give  the  Third-Estate  a  double  vote.  The  clergy 
and  the  nobles  are  detested,  and  their  supremacy  is  a  yoke. 
"  Last  July,"  he  says,  "  the  old  States-General  would  have 
been  receiv2d  with  transport  and  there  would  have  been  few  ob- 
stacles to  its  formation.  During  the  past  five  months  minds  have 
become  enlightened;  respective  interests  have  been  discussed, 
and  leagues  formed.  You  have  been  kept  in  ignorance  of  the 
fermentation  which  is  at  its  height  among  all  classes  of  the 
Third-Estate,  and  a  spark  will  kindle  the  conflagration.  If  the 
king's  decision  should  be  favorable  to  the  first  two  orders  a  gen- 
eral insurrection  will  occur  throughout  the  province,  600,000  men 
in  arms  and  the  horrors  of  the  Jacquerie."  The  word  is  spoken 
and  the  reality  is  coming.  An  insurrectionary  multitude  reject- 
ing its  natural  leaders  must  elect  or  submit  to  others.  It  is  like 
an  army  which,  entering  on  a  campaign,  should  depose  its  officers ; 
the  new  grades  are  for  the  boldest,  most  violent,  most  oppressed, 
for  those  who,  putting  themselves  ahead,  cry  out  "  march  "  and 
thus  form  advanced  bands.  In  1789,  the  bands  are  ready;  for, 
below  the  mass  that  suffers  another  suffers  yet  more,  with  which 
the  insurrection  is  permanent,  and  which,  repressed,  persecuted, 
and  obscure,  only  awaits  an  opportunity  to  issue  from  its  hiding- 
place  and  ravage  in  the  open  daylight. 

IV. 

Vagrants,  every  species  of  refractory  spirit,  victims  of  the  law 
and  of  the  police,  mendicants,  deformities,  foul,  filthy,  haggard 
and  savage,  are  engendered  by  the  abuses  of  the  system,  and, 
upon  each  social  ulcer  they  gather  like  vermin. 

Four  hundred  leagues  of  guarded  captainries  and  the 
security  enjoyed  by  vast  quantities  of  game  feeding  on  crops 
under  their  owners'  eyes,  give  rise  to  thousands  of  poachers,  the 
more  dangerous  that  they  are  armed  and  defy  the  most  terrible 
laws.  Already  in  I7521  are  seen  around  Paris  "gatherings  of 
fifty  or  sixty,  all  fully  armed  and  acting  as  if  on  regular  foraging 
campaigns,  with  the  infantry  at  the  centre  and  the  cavalry  on 
the  wings.  .  .  They  live  in  the  forests  behind  retired  and 
guarded  entrenchments,  paying  exactly  for  what  they  take  to 

1  D'Argenson,  March  13,  1753. 


CHAP.  ill.  THE  PEOPLE.  381 

live  on."  In  1777,  at  Sens  in  Burgundy,  the  procureur-ge'ne'ral, 
M.  Terray,  hunting  on  his  own  property  with  two  officers,  meets 
a  gang  of  poachers  who  fire  on  the  game  under  his  own  eye  and 
soon  afterwards  fire  on  them.  M.  Terray  is  wounded  and  one 
of  the  officers  has  his  coat  pierced ;  guards  arrive,  but  the  poach- 
ers stand  firm  and  repel  them ;  dragoons  are  sent  for,  at  Provins, 
and  the  poachers  kill  one  of  these,  along  with  three  horses,  and 
are  attacked  with  sabres ;  four  of  them  are  brought  to  the  ground 
and  seven  are  captured.  Reports  of  the  States -General  show 
that  every  year,  in  each  extensive  forest,  murders  occur,  some* 
times  at  the  hands  of  a  poacher  and  again,  and  the  most  fre- 
quently, by  the  shot  of  a  gamekeeper.  Domestic  warfare  is  or- 
ganized; every  vast  domain  thus  harbors  its  rebels  provided 
with  powder  and  ball  and  knowing  how  to  use  them. 

Other  recruits  for  turbulence  are  found  in  smugglers  and  in 
dealers  in  contraband  salt.1  A  tax,  as  soon  as  it  becomes  exor- 
bitant, invites  fraud,  and  raises  up  a  population  of  delinquents 
against  its  army  of  clerks.  The  number  of  defrauders  of  this 
species  may  be  estimated  by  the  number  of  their  supervisors . 
twelve  hundred  leagues  of  interior  custom  districts  are  guarded  by 
50,000  men  of  which  23,000  are  soldiers  not  in  uniform.2  "In 
the  chief  provinces  of  the  salt-tax  and  in  the  provinces  of  the 
five  great  fermes,  four  leagues  one  way  and  another  along  the 
line  of  defence,"  cultivation  is  abandoned ;  everybody  is  either  a 
customs  official  or  a  smuggler.3  The  more  excessive  the  tax  the 
higher  the  premium  offered  to  the  violators  of  the  law ;  at  every 
place  on  the  boundaries  of  Brittany  with  Normandy,  Maine  and 
Anjou,  four  sous  per  pound  added  to  the  salt-tax  multiplies  be- 
yond any  conception  the  already  enormous  number  of  contra- 
band dealers.  "Numerous  bands  of  men,4  armed  with  frettes^  or 
long  sticks  pointed  with  iron,  and  often  with  pistols  or  guns, 
attempt  to  force  a  passage.  A  multitude  of  women  and  of  chil- 
dren, quite  young,  cross  the  lines  of  the  brigades  while,  on  the 

1  Beugnot,  I.  142.  "No  inhabitant  of  the  barony  of  Choiseul  mingled  with  any  of  the 
bands  composed  of  the  patriots  of  Montigny,  smugglers  and  outcasts  of  the  neighborhood." 
See,  on  the  poachers  of  the  day,  "  Les  deux  amis  de  Bourbonne,"  by  Diderot 

*De  Calonne,  "M6moires  presentes  i  1'ass.  des  notables,"  No.  8.  Necker,  "De  1'Ad- 
ministration  des  Finances,"  I.  195. 

*  Letrosne,  "De  1' Administration  des  Finances,"  59. 

4  Archives  Rationales,  H.  426.  (Memorials  of  the  fanners-general,  Jan.  13,  17?  i;  Sept 
15,  1782).  H,  614.  (Letter  of  M.  de  Coetlosquet,  April  25,  1777).  H,  1431.  Report  bj 
the  farmers-general,  March  9,  1787. 


382  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  v. 

other  hand,  troops  of  dogs  brought  upon  the  free  soil  and  kept 
there  a  certain  time  without  food,  are  loaded  with  salt  and  this, 
urged  by  their  hunger,  they  immediately  transport  to  their  masters." 
Vagabonds,  outlaws,  the  famished,  sniff  this  lucrative  occupation 
from  afar  and  run  to  it  like  so  many  packs  of  hounds.  "The 
outskirts  of  Brittany  are  filled  with  a  population  of  emigrants, 
mostly  outcasts  from  their  own  districts,  and  who,  after  a  year's 
sojourn  here  in  domicile,  enjoy  the  privileges  of  the  Bretons: 
their  occupation  is  limited  to  collecting  piles  of  salt  to  re-sell  to 
the  contraband  dealers."  We  obtain  a  glimpse,  as  in  a  flash  of 
lightning,  of  this  long  line  of  restless,  hunted,  midnight  rovers,  a 
male  and  female  population  of  savage  wanderers,  accustomed  to 
blows,  hardened  to  the  inclemencies  of  the  weather,  ragged, 
"almost  all  with  an  obstinate  itch;"  and  I  find  similar  bodies  in 
the  vicinity  of  Morlaix,  Lorient,  and  other  ports  on  the  frontiers 
of  other  provinces  and  on  the  frontiers  of  the  kingdom.  From 
1783  to  1787,  in  Quercy,  two  allied  bands  of  smugglers,  sixty 
and  eighty  each,  defraud  the  revenue  of  forty  thousands  of 
tobacco,  kill  two  customs  officers  and,  with  their  guns,  defend 
their  magazine  in  the  mountains;  to  suppress  them  soldiers  are 
requisite,  which  their  military  commander  will  not  furnish.  In 
1789,!  a  large  troop  of  smugglers  carry  on  operations  permanently 
on  the  frontiers  of  Maine  and  Anjou ;  the  military  commander 
writes  that  "their  chief  is  an  intelligent  and  formidable  bandit, 
that  he  already  has  under  him  fifty-five  men,  that  he  will  soon 
have  a  corps,  embarrassing  through  misery  and  through  the  dis- 
position of  minds ; "  it  would  be  well,  possibly,  to  corrupt  some  of 
his  men  so  as  to  have  him  betrayed  since  they  cannot  capture 
him.  These  are  the  means  resorted  to  in  regions  where  brigand- 
age is  endemic.  Here,  indeed,  as  in  Calabria,  the  people  are  on 
the  side  of  the  brigands  against  the  gendarmes.  The  exploits 
of  Mandrin  in  I754,2  maybe  remembered:  his  company  of  sixty 
men  who  bring  in  contraband  goods  and  ransom  only  the  clerks, 
his  expedition,  lasting  nearly  a  year,  across  Franche- Cerate",  Ly- 
onnais,  Bourbonnais,  Auvergne  and  Burgundy,  the  twenty-seven 
towns  he  enters  making  no  resistance,  delivering  prisoners  and 
making  sale  of  his  merchandise;  to  overcome  him  a  camp  had 
to  be  formed  at  Valence  and  two  thousand  men  sent  against  him; 

1  Archives  naa jnalcs,  H,  1453.     (Letter  of  the  Baron  de  Bezenval,  June  19,  1789. 
*  "  Mandrin,"  by  Paul  Simian,  passim.     "Histoire  de  Bearme,"  by  Rogsegnol,  p.  433). 


CHAP.  m.  THE  PEOPLE.  383 

he  was  taken  through  treachery  and  still  at  the  present  day 
certain  families  are  proud  of  their  relationship  to  him,  declar- 
ing him  a  liberator. — No  symptom  is  more  alarming:  on  the 
enemies  of  the  law  being  preferred  by  the  people  to  its  defenders, 
society  disintegrates  and  the  worms  begin  to  work.  Add  to  these 
the  veritable  brigands,  assassins  and  robbers.  "In  I782,1  the 
provost's  court  of  Montargis  is  engaged  on  the  trial  of  Hulin 
and  two  hundred  of  his  accomplices  who,  for  ten  years,  by  means 
of  joint  enterprises,  have  desolated  a  portion  of  the  kingdom." 
Mercier  enumerates  in  France  "an  army  of  more  than  10,000 
brigands  and  vagabonds"  against  which  the  police,  composed  of 
3,756  men,  is  always  on  the  march.  "  Complaints  are  daily  made," 
says  the  provincial  assembly  of  Haute-Guyenne,  "that  there  is 
no  police  in  the  country."  The  absentee  seignior  pays  no  atten- 
tion to  this  matter;  his  judges  and  officials  take  good  care  not 
to  operate  gratuitously  against  an  insolvent  criminal,  while  "  his 
estates  become  the  refuge  of  all  the  rascals  of  the  canton." 2  Every 
abuse  thus  engenders  a  danger,  ill-placed  neglect  equally  with 
excessive  rigor,  relaxed  feudalism  equally  with  a  too-exacting 
monarchy.  All  institutions  seem  under  agreement  to  multiply 
or  tolerate  the  abettors  of  disorder  and  to  prepare,  outside  the 
social  pale, the  executive  agents  who  are  to  carry  it  by  storm. 

But  the  total  effect  of  all  this  is  yet  more  pernicious,  for, 
out  of  the  vast  numbers  of  laborers  it  ruins  it  forms  mendicants 
unwilling  to  work,  dangerous  sluggards  going  about  begging  and 
extorting  bread  from  peasants  who  have  not  too  much  for  them- 
selves. "The  vagabonds  about  the  country,"  says  Letrosne,3 
"are  a  terrible  pest;  they  are  like  an  enemies'  force  which,  dis- 
tributed over  the  territory,  obtains  a  living  as  it  pleases,  levy- 
ing veritable  contributions.  .  .  .  They  are  constantly  roving 
around  the  country,  examining  the  approaches  to  houses,  and 
informing  themselves  about  their  inmates  and  of  their  habits. 
Woe  to  those  supposed  to  have  money !  .  .  .  What  numbers  of 
highway  robberies  and  what  burglaries !  What  numbers  of  trav- 
ellers assassinated,  and  houses  and  doors  broken  into!  What 
assassinations  of  curates,  farmers  and  widows,  tormented  to  dis- 
cover money  and  afterwards  killed !  "  Twenty-five  years  anterioz 

1  Mercier,  XI.  116 

*  See  ante,  book  I.  p  55. 

*  Letrosne,  ibid.  (1779),  p.  539. 


384  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  v 

to  the  Revolution  it  was  not  infrequent  to  see  fifteen  or  twenty 
of  these  "invade  a  farm-house  to  sleep  there,  intimidating  the 
farmers  and  exacting  whatever  they  pleased."  In  1764,  the  gov- 
ernment takes  measures  against  them  which  indicates  the  magni- 
tude of  the  evil.1  "Are  held  to  be  vagabonds  and  vagrants,  and 
condemned  as  such,  those  who,  for  a  preceding  term  of  six 
months,  shall  have  exercised  no  trade  or  profession,  and  who, 
having  no  occupation  or  means  of  subsistence,  can  procure  no 
persons  worthy  of  confidence  to  attest  and  verify  their  habits  and 
mode  of  life.  .  .  .  The  intent  of  His  Majesty  is  not  merely  to  ar- 
rest vagabonds  traversing  the  country  but,  again,  all  mendicants 
whatsoever,  who,  without  occupations,  may  be  regarded  as  sus- 
pected of  vagabondage."  The  penalty  for  able-bodied  men  is  three 
years  in  the  galleys ;  in  case  of  a  second  conviction,  nine  years ;  in 
case  of  a  third  conviction,  the  galleys  for  life.  For  invalid  culprits, 
three  years  imprisonment ;  in  case  of  a  second  conviction,  nine 
years,  and  for  a  third,  imprisonment  for  life.  Under  the  age  of 
sixteen,  they  are  put  in  a  hospital.  "  A  mendicant  who  has  made 
himself  liable  to  arrest  by  the  police,"  says  the  circular,  "  is  not  to 
be  released  except  under  the  most  positive  assurance  that  he  will 
no  longer  beg;  this  course  will  be  followed  only  in  case  of  per- 
sons worthy  of  confidence  and  solvent,  guaranteeing  the  mendi- 
cant and  engaging  to  provide  him  with  employment  or  to  support 
him,  and  they  shall  indicate  the  means  by  which  they  are  to  pre- 
vent him  from  begging."  This  being  furnished,  the  special  author 
ization  of  the  intendant  must  be  obtained  in  addition.  By  virtue 
of  this  law,  50,000  beggars  are  said  to  have  been  arrested  at 
once,  and,  as  the  ordinary  hospitals  and  prisons  were  not  large 
enough  to  contain  them,  jails  had  to  be  constructed.  Up  to  the 
end  of  the  ancient  regime  this  measure  is  carried  out  with  occa- 
sional intermissions:  in  Languedoc,  in  1768,  arrests  were  still 
made  of  433  in  six  months,  and,  in  1785,  205  in  four  months. 
About  the  same  epoch  300  were  confined  in  the  depot  of  Besan- 
con,  500  in  that  of  Rennes  and  650  in  that  of  St.  Denis.  It  cost 
the  king  a  million  a  year  to  support  them,  and  God  knows  how 
they  were  supported!  Water,  straw,  bread,  and  two  ounces  of 

1  Archives  nationales,  F16,  965,  and  H,  892.  (Ordinance  of  August  4,  1764;  a  circular  of 
Instructions  of  July  20,  1767;  a  letter  of  a  police  lieutenant  of  Toulouse,  September  21, 1787). 

*  Archives  nationales,  H,  724;  H,  554;  F4,  2397;  F16,  965.  Letters  of  the  jail-keepers  of 
Carcassonne- (June  22,  1789);  of  Beriers  (July  19,  1786);  of  Nimes  (July  i,  1786);  of  th* 
intendant,  M.  d'Aine  (March  19,  1786). 


CHAP.  in.  THE  PEOPLE.  385 

salted  grease,  the  whole  at  an  expense  of  five  sous  a  day ;  and,  as 
the  price  of  provisions  for  twenty  years  back  had  increased  more 
than  a  third,  the  keeper  who  had  them  in  charge  was  obliged  to 
nake  them  fast  or  ruin  himself.  With  respect  to  the  mode  of 
filling  the  depots,  the  police  are  Turks  in  their  treatment  of  the 
lower  class;  they  strike  into  the  heap,  their  broom  bruising  as 
many  as  they  sweep  out.  According  to  the  ordinance  of  1778, 
writes  an  intendant,1  "the  police  must  arrest,  not  only  beggars 
and  vagabonds  whom  they  encounter  but,  again,  those  denounced 
as  such  or  as  suspected  persons.  The  citizen,  the  most  ir- 
reproachable in  his  conduct  and  the  least  open  to  suspicion  of 
vagabondage,  is  not  sure  of  not  being  shut  up  in  the  depot,  as 
his  freedom  depends  on  a  policeman  who  is  constantly  liable  to 
be  deceived  by  false  denunciation  or  corrupted  by  a  bribe.  I 
have  seen  in  the  depot  at  Rennes  several  husbands  arrested 
solely  through  the  denunciation  of  their  wives,  and  as  many 
women  through  that  of  their  husbands ;  several  children  by  the 
first  wife  at  the  solicitation  of  their  step-mothers ;  many  female 
domestics  pregnant  by  the  masters  they  served,  shut  up  at  their 
instigation,  and  girls  in  the  same  situation  at  the  instance  of  their 
seducers;  children  denounced  by  their  fathers,  and  fathers  de- 
nounced by  their  children ;  all  without  the  slightest  evidence  of 
vagabondage  or  mendicity.  .  .  .  No  decision  of  the  provost's 
court  exists  restoring  the  incarcerated  to  their  liberty,  notwith- 
standing the  infinite  number  arrested  unjustly."  Suppose  that  a 
humane  intendant,  like  this  one,  sets  them  at  liberty  :  there  they 
are  in  the  streets,  mendicants  through  the  action  of  the  law  which 
proscribes  mendicity  and  which  adds  to  the  wretched  it  prose- 
cutes the  wretched  it  creates,  still  more  embittered  and  corrupt  in 
body  and  in  soul.  "  It  nearly  always  happens,"  says  the  same  in- 
tendant, "  that  the  prisoners,  arrested  twenty-five  or  thirty  leagues 
from  the  depot,  are  not  confined  there  until  three  or  four  months 
after  their  arrest  and  sometimes  longer.  Meanwhile,  they  are 
transferred  from  brigade  to  brigade,  in  the  prisons  found  along  the 
road,  where  they  remain  until  the  number  increases  sufficiently  to 
form  a  convoy.  Men  and  women  are  confined  in  the  same 
prison,  the  result  of  which  is,  the  females  not  pregnant  on  enter- 
ing it  are  always  so  on  their  arrival  at  the  depot.  The  prisons  are 

1  Archives  rationales,  H,  554.     (Letter  of  M.  de  Bertrand,  intendant  of  Rennes,  Auguit 
7,  1785*. 

33 


386  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  v. 

generally  unhealthy ;  frequently,  the  majority  of  the  prisoners  are 
sick  on  leaving  it ; "  and  many  become  rascals  on  coming  in  con 
tact  with  rascals.     Moral  contagion  and  physical  contagion,  the 
ulcer  thus  increasing  through  the  remedy,  centres  of  repression 
becoming  centres  of  corruption. 

And  yet  with  all  its  rigors  the  law  does  not  attain  its  ends. 
"Our  towns,"  says  the  parliament  of  Brittany,1  "are  so  filled 
with  beggars  it  seems  as  if  the  measures  taken  to  suppress  men- 
dicity only  increase  it."  "The  principal  highways,"  writes  the 
intendant,  "are  infested  with  dangerous  vagabonds  and  vagrants, 
actual  beggars,  which  the  police  do  not  arrest,  either  through 
negligence  or  because  their  interference  is  not  provoked  by  special 
solicitations."  What  would  be  done  with  them  if  they  were 
arrested  ?  There  are  too  many,  and  there  is  no  place  to  put 
them.  And,  moreover,  how  prevent  people  who  live  on  alms  from 
demanding  alms?  The  effect,  undoubtedly,  is  lamentable  but 
inevitable.  Poverty,  to  a  certain  extent,  is  a  slow  gangrene 
in  which  the  morbid  parts  consume  the  healthy  parts,  the  man 
scarcely  able  to  subsist  being  eaten  up  alive  by  the  man  who  has 
nothing  to  live  on.  "The  peasant  is  ruined,  perishing,  the  victim 
of  oppression  by  the  multitude  of  the  poor  that  lay  waste  the 
country  and  take  refuge  in  the  towns.  Hence  the  mobs  so  prej- 
udicial to  public  safety,  that  crowd  of  smugglers  and  vagrants, 
that  large  body  of  men  who  have  become  robbers  and  assassins, 
solely  because  they  lack  bread.  This  gives  but  a  faint  idea 
of  the  disorders  I  have  seen  with  my  own  eyes.2  The  poverty 
of  the  rural  districts,  excessive  in  itself,  becomes  yet  more  so 
through  the  disturbances  it  engenders ;  we  have  not  to  seek  else- 
where for  frightful  sources  of  mendicity  and  for  all  the  vices."  3 
Of  what  avail  are  palliatives  or  violent  proceedings  against  an 
evil  which  is  in  the  blood  and  which  belongs  to  the  very  consti- 
tution of  the  social  organism  ?  What  police  force  could  effect 
anything  in  a  parish  in  which  one-quarter  or  one-third  of  its  in- 
habitants have  nothing  to  eat  but  that  which  they  beg  from  door 
to  door  ?  At  Argentr6,4  in  Brittany,  "  a  town  without  trade  or 

1  Archives  rationales,  H,  426.    (Remonstrance,  Feb.  4,  1783).    H,  554.     (Letter  of  M.  d» 
Bertrand,  Aug.  17,  1785). 

*  Ibid.  H,  6x4.     (Memorial  by  Ren£  de  Hauteville,  parliamentary  advocate,  St.  Brieuc, 
Dec.  25,  1776). 

*  "  Proces-verbaux  de  1'ass.  piov.  de  Soissonnais "  (1787*   p.  457. 

4  Archives  Rationales,  H,  616.     (A  letter  of  M.  de  Bo-  es,  intendant  of  Routes,  April  aj 
*774). 


CHAP.  in.  THE  PEOPLE.  387 

industry,  out  of  2,300  inhabitants,  more  than  one-half  are  any- 
thing else  but  well-off,  and  over  500  are  reduced  to  beggary." 
At  Dainville,  in  Artois,  "  out  of  130  houses  sixty  are  on  the  poor- 
list."1  In  Normandy,  according  to  statements  made  by  the 
curates,  "of  900  parishioners  in  Saint-Malo,  three-quarters  can 
barely  live  and  the  rest  are  in  poverty."  "Of  1,500  inhabitants 
in  Saint-Patrice,  400  live  on  alms;  of  500  inhabitants  in  Saint- 
Laurent  three-quarters  live  on  alms. "  At  Marbceuf,  says  a  report, 
"of  500  persons  inhabiting  our  parish,  100  are  reduced  to  men- 
dicity and  besides  these,  thirty  and  forty  a  day  come  to  us  from 
neighboring  parishes."  2  At  Bolbone  in  Languedoc 3  daily  at  the 
convent  gate  is  "  general  alms-giving  to  300  or  400  poor  people, 
independent  of  that  fbr  the  aged  and  the  sick  which  is  more 
numerously  attended."  At  Lyons,  in  1787,  "30,000  workmen 
depend  on  public  charity  for  subsistence;"  at  Rennes,  in  1788, 
after  an  inundation,  "two-thirds  of  the  inhabitants  are  in  a  state 
of  destitution ; "  4  at  Paris,  out  of  650,000  inhabitants,  the  census 
of  1791  enumerates  1 18,784  as  indigent.5  Let  frost  or  hail  come, 
as  in  1788,  let  a  crop  fail,  let  bread  cost  four  sous  a.  pound,  and 
let  a  workman  in  the  charity- workshops  earn  only  twelve  sous 
a  day,6  can  one  imagine  that  people  will  resign  themselves  to 
death  by  starvation  ?  Around  Rouen,  during  the  winter  of  1788, 
the  forests  are  pillaged  in  open  day,  the  woods  at  Bagueres  are 
wholly  cut  away,  the  fallen  trees  are  publicly  sold  by  the  ma- 
rauders.7 Both  the  famished  and  the  marauders  go  together, 
necessity  making  itself  the  accomplice  of  crime.  From  province 
to  province  we  can  follow  up  their  tracks :  four  months  later,  in 
the  vicinity  of  Etampes,  fifteen  brigands  break  into  four  farm- 
houses during  the  night,  while  the  farmers,  threatened  by  incen- 
diaries, are  obliged  to  give,  one  three  hundred  francs,  another 
five  hundred,  all  the  money,  probatly,  they  have  in  their  coffers.* 

1  Perin,  "La  Jeunesse  de  Robespierre,"  301.     (Doleances  des  parvisses  rurales  in  1789). 

*  Theron  de  Montaug6,  p.  87.     (Letter  of  the  prior  of  the  convent,  March,  1789). 

*  Hippeau,    "Le  Gouvern.  de  Nonnandie,"  VII.    147-177   (1789).     Boivin-Cliampeaux, 
"Notice  hist  sur  la  Revolution  dans  le  d6partement  de  1'Eure,"  p.  83  (1789). 

*  "  Proces-verbaux  de  1'ass.  prov.  de  Lyonnais,"  p.  57.     Archives  nationales,  F4,  2073. 
Memorial  of  Jan.  24,  1788.     "Charitable  assistance  is  very  limited,  the  provincial  authorities 
providing  no  resources  for  such  accidents." 

*  Levasseur,  "La  France  industrielle,"  119.    In  1862,  the  population  being  almost  ttipU 
(1,696,000),  there  are  but  90,000. 

*  Albert  Babeau,  "Hist  de  Troyes,"  I.  91.     (Letter  of  the  mayor  Huez,  July  30,  1788). 
»  Floquet,  VII.  506. 

*  Archives  nationales,  H,  1453.     'Letter  of  M.  de  Saint-Suzanne,  April  ag,  1789). 


388  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  v. 

"  Robbers,  convicts,  the  worthless  of  every  species,"  are  to  form 
the  advance  guard  of  insurrections  and  lead  the  peasantry  to  the 
extreme  of  violence.1  After  the  sack  of  the  Reveillon  house  in 
Paris  it  is  remarked  that  "of  the  forty  ringleaders  arrested,  there 
was  scarcely  one  who  was  not  an  old  oifender,  and  either  flogged 
or  branded."8  In  every  revolution  the  lees  of  society  come  to 
the  surface.  Never  had  these  been  visible  before ;  like  badgers 
in  the  woods,  or  rats  in  the  sewers,  they  had  remained  in  their 
burrows  or  in  their  holes.  They  issue  from  these  in  swarms, 
while,  in  Paris,  what  figures  suddenly  come  to  light ! 3  "  Never 
had  any  like  them  been  seen  in  open  day.  .  .  .  Where  do  they 
come  from  ?  who  has  brought  them  out  of  their  obscure  hiding- 
places  ?  .  .  .  Foreigners  from  every  country,  armed  with  clubs, 
ragged,  ...  some  almost  naked,  others  oddly  dressed "  in  in- 
congruous patches  and  "frightful  to  look  at,"  constitute  the  riot- 
ous chiefs  or  their  subordinates,  at  six  francs  per  head,  behind 
which  the  people  are  to  march. 

"In  Paris,"  says  Mercier,4  "the  people  are  weak,  pallid,  dimin- 
utive, stunted,"  maltreated,  "and,  apparently,  a  class  apart  from 
other  classes  in  the  State.  The  rich  and  the  great  who  possess 
equipages,  enjoy  the  privilege  of  crushing  them  or  of  mutilating 
them  in  the  streets.  .  .  .  There  is  no  convenience  for  foot-pas- 
sengers, no  sidewalks.  Hundreds  of  victims  die  annually  under 
the  carriage  wheels."  "I  saw,"  says  Arthur  Young,  "a  poor 
child  run  over  and  probably  killed,  and  have  been  myself  many 
times  blackened  with  the  mud  of  the  kennels.  ...  If  young  no- 
blemen at  London  were  to  drive  their  chaises  in  streets  without 
foot-ways,  as  their  brethren  do  at  Paris,  they  would  speedily  and 
justly  get  very  well  threshed  or  rolled  in  the  kennel."  Mercier 
grows  uneasy  in  the  face  of  the  immense  populace.  "  In  Paris 
there  are,  probably,  two  hundred  thousand  individuals  with  no 
property  intrinsically  worth  fifty  crowns,  and  yet  the  city  sub- 
sists!" Order,  consequently,  is  maintained  only  through  fear 
and  by  force,  owing  to  the  soldiery  of  the  watch  who  are  called 

1  Arthur  Young,  I.  256. 

*  "Corresp,  secrete  ine'dite,"  from  1777  to  1792,  published  by  M.  de  Lescure,  II.  351 
(May  8,  1789).    C£  C.  Desmoulins,  "La  Lanterne,"  of  100  rioters  arrested  at  Lyons  96  weri 
tnutdtd. 

•  De  Bezenval,  II.  344,  350.    Dussault,  "La  Prise  de  la  Bastille,"  352.    Mannontel,  II 
ih.  xhr.  249.    Mme.  Vige'e-Lebrun,  I.  177,  188. 

«Merder,  I.  32;  VI  15;  X.  179;  XI.  59;  XII.  83.    Arthur  Young,  I.  iaa. 


CHAP.  in.  THE  PEOPLE.  389 

tristeS'h-patte  by  the  masses.  "This  appellation  excites  the  rage 
of  this  species  of  militia  who  then  deal  heavier  blows  areund 
them,  wounding  indiscriminately  all  they  encounter.  The  low 
class  is  always  ready  to  make  war  on  them  because  it  has  never 
been  fairly  treated  by  them."  In  fact,  "a  squad  of  the  guard 
often  scatters,  with  no  trouble,  platoons  of  five  or  six  hundred 
men,  at  first  greatly  excited,  but  melting  away  in  the  twinkling 
of  an  eye,  after  the  soldiery  have  distributed  a  few  blows  and 
handcuffed  two  or  three  of  the  ringleaders." .  Nevertheless, "  were 
the  people  of  Paris  abandoned  to  their  first  transports,  did  they 
not  feel  the  horse  and  foot  guards  behind  them,  the  commissary 
and  policeman,  they  would  set  no  limits  to  their  disorder.  The 
populace,  delivered  from  its  accustomed  restraint,  would  give  it- 
self up  to  violence  of  so  cruel  a  stamp  as  not  to  know  when  to 
stop.  ...  As  long  as  white  bread1  lasts,  the  commotion  will  not 
prove  general ;  the  flour  market2  must  interest  itself  in  the  matter, 
if  the  women  are  to  remain  tranquil.  .  .  .  Should  white  bread  be 
wanting  for  two  market  days  in  succession,  the  uprising  would 
be  universal,  and  it  is  impossible  to  foresee  the  lengths  this  mul- 
titude at  bay  will  go  to  escape  famine,  they  and  their  children." 
In  1 789  white  bread  proves  to  be  wanting  throughout  France. 

1  In  the  original,  pain  de  Gonesse,  —  bread  made  in  a  village  of  this  name  near  Paris,  and 
renowned  for  its  whiteness. — TR. 

»  "Dialogues  sur  le  commerce  des  b!6s,"  by  Galiani  (1770).  "If  the  powerful  of  the 
markets  are  content,  no  misfortune  will  happen  to  the  administration.  The  great  conspire 
and  rebel ;  the  bourgeois  murmurs  and  lives  a  celibate;  peasants  and  artisans  despair  and 
go  away;  porters  get  up  riots." 

33* 


CHAPTER  IV. 

I.  Military  force  declines. — How  the  army  is  recruited. — How  the  soltliet 
is  treated. — II.  The  social  organization  is  dissolved. — No  central  rallying- 
point. — Inertia  of  the  provinces. — Ascendency  of  Paris. — III.  Direction  of 
the  current — The  people  led  by  lawyers. — Theories  and  piques  the  sole 
surviving  forces. 

I. 

AGAINST  universal  sedition  where  is  force  ? — In  the  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  men  who  maintain  order,  dispositions  are  the 
same  as  in  the  twenty -six  millions  of  men  who  are  subject  to  it, 
while  abuses,  disaffection,  and  all  the  causes,  that  dissolve  the 
nation,  dissolve  the  army.  Of  the  ninety  millions  of  pay l  which 
the  army  annually  costs  the  treasury,  forty-six  millions  are  for 
officers  and  only  forty-four  millions  for  soldiers,  and  we  are 
already  aware  that  a  new  ordinance  reserves  ranks  of  all  kinds 
for  verified  nobles.  In  no  direction  is  this  inequality,  against 
which  public  opinion  rebels  so  vigorously,  more  apparent;  on 
the  one  hand,  authority,  honors,  money,  leisure,  good-living, 
social  enjoyments,  and  private  theatricals,  for  the  minority;  on 
the  other  hand,  for  the  majority,  subjection,  abjection,  fatigue,  a 
forced  or  betrayed  enlistment,  no  hope  of  promotion,  pay  at  six 
sous  a  day,  a  narrow  cot  for  two,  bread  fit  for  dogs,  and,  for 
several  years,  kicks  like  those  bestowed  on  a  dog ; 8  on  the  one 
hand,  a  nobility  of  high  estate,  and,  on  the  other,  the  lowest  of 
the  populace.  One  might  say  that  this  was  specially  designed 
for  contrasts  and  to  intensify  irritation.  "  The  insignificant  pay 
of  the  soldier,"  says  an  economist,  "the  way  in  which  he  is 
dressed,  lodged  and  fed,  his  utter  dependence,  would  render  it 
cruelty  to  take  any  other  than  a  man  of  the  lower  class." 

1  Necker,  "De  1' Administration  des  Finances,"  II.  422,  435. 

*  Aubertin,  345.     Letter  of  the  Comte  de  St.  Germain  (during  the  Seven  Years  War) 
"The  soldier's  hardships  make  one's  heart  bleed;  he  passes  his  days  in  a  state  of  abjec 
misery,  despised  and  living  like  a  fighting  dog  in  chains." 

*  De  Tocquevillo,  190,  191. 


HAP.  IV.  THE  PEOPLE.  391 

Indeed,  he  is  sought  for  only  in  the  very  lowest  stages.  Not 
only  are  nobles  and  the  bourgeoisie  exempt  from  conscription, 
but  again  the  employes  of  the  administration,  of  the  fermts  and 
of  public  works,  "  all  gamekeepers  and  forest-rangers,  the  hired 
domestics  and  valets  of  ecclesiastics,  of  communities,  of  religious 
establishments,  of  the  gentry  and  of  nobles," l  and  even  of  the 
bourgeoisie  living  in  grand  style,  and  still  better,  the  sons  of  culti- 
vators in  easy  circumstances,  and,  in  general,  all  possessing 
influence  or  any  species  of  protector.  There  remains,  accord- 
ingly, for  the  militia  none  but  the  poorest  class  and  they  do  not 
willingly  enter  it.  On  the  contrary,  the  service  is  hateful  to 
them ;  they  conceal  themselves  in  the  forests  where  they  have  to 
be  pursued  by  men  bearing  arms :  in  a  certain  canton  which, 
three  years  later,  furnishes  in  one  day  from  fifty  to  one  hundred 
volunteers,  the  young  men  cut  off  then*  thumbs  to  escape  the 
draft.2  To  this  scum  of  society  is  added  the  sweepings  of  the 
depots  and  of  the  jails.  Among  the  vagabonds  that  fill  these, 
after  winnowing  out  those  able  to  make  their  families  known  or 
to  obtain  sponsors,  "there  are  none  left,"  says  an  intendant,  "but 
those  who  are  entirely  unknown  and  dangerous,  out  of  which 
those  regarded  as  the  least  vicious  are  selected  and  efforts  are 
made  to  place  these  in  the  army." 3  The  last  of  its  affluents  is 
the  half-forced,  half-voluntary  enlistment  by  which  the  ranks  are 
for  the  most  part  filled,  the  offscourings  of  large  towns,  like 
adventurers,  discharged  apprentices,  young  reprobates  turned  out 
of  doors,  and  people  without  homes  or  steady  occupation.  The 
recruiting  agent  who  is  paid  so  much  a  head  for  his  recruits  and 
so  much  an  inch  on  their  stature  above  five  feet,  "  holds  his  court 
in  a  tavern,  treats"  and  fashions  the  article:  "  Come,  boys,  soup, 
fish,  meat  and  salad  is  what  you  get  to  eat  in  the  regiment; "  that  is 
all,  "  I  don't  deceive  you — pie  and  Arbois  wine  are  the  extras." 4 
He  pushes  around  the  glass,  pays  accordingly  and,  if  need  be, 
yields  his  mistress :  "  After  a  few  days  debauchery,  the  young 

1  Archives  natlonales,  H,  1391 

»De  Rochambeau,  "Me~moiies,"  I.  427.  D'Argenson,  Decem.  24,  1752,  "30,000  men 
have  been  punished  for  desertion  since  the  peace  of  1748 ;  this  extensive  desertion  is  attribu- 
ted to  the  new  drill  which  fatigues  and  disheartens  the  soldier,  and  especially  the  veterans." 
Voltaire,  "Diet.  Phil.,"  article  "Punishments."  "I  was  amazed  one  day  on  seeing  the  list 
of  deserters,  for  eight  years  amounting  to  6q,ooo." 

•  Archives  nationales.  H.  554.  (Letter  of  M.  de  Hertrand,  Intendant  of  Rennes,  Augutt 
»7.  1785)- 

<  Merrier.  XL  121. 


392  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  v. 

libertine,  with  no  money  to  pay  his  score,  is  obliged  to  sell  him- 
self, while  the  laborer,  transformed  to  a  soldier,  begins  to  drill 
under  the  lash."  Strange  recruits  these,  for  the  protection  of 
society,  all  selected  from  the  attacking  class,  down-trodden  peas- 
ants, imprisoned  vagabonds,  social  outcasts,  poor  fellows  in  debt, 
disheartened,  excited  and  easily  tempted,  who,  according  to 
circumstances,  become,  at  one  time,  rioters  and,  at  another, 
soldiers. 

Which  lot  is  preferable?  The  bread  the  soldier  eats  is  not 
more  abundant  than  that  of  the  prisoner,  while  poorer  in  quality ; 
for,  the  bran  is  taken  out  of  the  bread  which  the  locked-up  vaga- 
bond eats  and  left  in  the  bread  which  is  eaten  by  the  soldier  who 
locks  him  up.  In  this  state  of  things  the  soldier  ought  not  to 
meditate  on  his  lot,  and  yet  this  is  just  what  his  officers  incite  him 
to  do.  They  also  have  become  politicians  and  fault-finders. 
Some  years  before  the  Revolution1  "disputes  occurred"  in  the 
army,  "discussions  and  complaints  and,  the  new  ideas  fermenting 
in  their  heads,  a  correspondence  was  established  between  two 
regiments.  Written  information  was  obtained  from  Paris,  au- 
thorized by  the  Minister  of  War,  which  cost,  I  believe,  twelve 
louis  per  annum.  It  soon  took  a  philosophic  turn,  embracing 
dissertations,  criticisms  of  the  ministry,  and  of  the  government, 
desirable  changes  and,  therefore,  the  more  diffused."  Sergeants 
like  Hoche,  and  fencing-masters  like  Augereau,  certainly  often 
read  this  news,  carelessly  left  lying  on  the  tables,  and  commented 
on  it  during  the  evening  in  their  soldier  quarters.  Discontent  is 
of  ancient  date  and  already,  at  the  end  of  the  late  reign,  ominous 
words  are  heard.  At  a  banquet  given  by  a  prince  of  the  blood,8 
with  a  table  set  for  a  hundred  guests  under  an  immense  tent  and 
served  by  grenadiers,  the  odor  these  diifused  offended  the  prince's 
delicate  olfactories.  "  These  worthy  fellows,"  said  he,  a  little  too 
loud,  "smell  strong  of  the  stocking."  One  of  the  grenadiers 
bluntly  responded,  "  Because  we  haven't  got  any,"  which  "  was 
followed  by  profound  silence."  During  the  ensuing  years  irrita- 
tion smoulders  and  augments ;  the  soldiers  of  Rochambeau  have 
fought  side  by  side  with  the  free  militia  of  America  and  they 
keep  this  in  mind.  In  I'jSB,3  Marshal  de  Vaux,  previous  to  tha 

*  De  Vaublacc,  149. 

»  De  S£gur,  I.  20  (1767). 

•  Augeard,  "Memoires,"  165. 


CHAP.  iv.  THE  PEOPLE.  393 

jisurrection  in  Dauphiny,  writes  to  the  minister  that  "it  is 
impossible  to  rely  on  the  troops,"  while,  four  months  after  the 
opening  of  the  States-General,  sixteen  thousand  deserters  roam- 
ing around  Paris  lead  the  revolts  instead  of  suppressing  them.1 

II. 

This  dyke  once  carried  away  no  other  remains,  the  inundation 
overspreading  France  as  if  an  immense  plain. — Other  nations, 
in  like  circumstances,  have  encountered  obstacles,  but  they  have 
possessed  high  ground,  centres  of  refuge,  a  few  old  enclosures 
where,  in  the  universal  fright,  a  portion  of  the  population 
could  find  shelter.  Here,  the  first  crisis  sweeps  away  all  that 
remains,  each  individual  of  the  twenty-six  scattered  millions 
standing  alone  by  himself.  The  administrations  of  Richelieu 
and  Louis  XIV.  had  been  a  long  time  at  work  insensibly  destroy- 
ing the  natural  groupings  which,  when  suddenly  dissolved,  unite 
and  form  over  again  of  their  own  accord.  Except  in  Vend6e,  I 
find  no  place,  nor  any  class,  in  which  a  good  many  men,  having 
confidence  in  a  few  men,  are  able,  in  the  hour  of  danger,  to 
rally  around  these  and  form  a  compact  body.  Neither  provin- 
cial nor  municipal  patriotism  any  longer  exists.  The  infericr 
clergy  are  hostile  to  the  prelates,  the  gentry  of  the  province  to 
the  nobility  of  the  court,  the  vassal  to  the  seignior,  the  peasant  to 
the  townsman,  the  urban  population  to  the  municipal  oligarchy, 
corporation  to  corporation,  parish  to  parish,  neighbor  to  neigh- 
bor. All  are  separated  by  their  privileges  and  their  jealousies,  by 
the  consciousness  of  having  been  imposed  on,  or  frustrated,  for 
the  advantage  of  another.  The  journeyman  tailor  is  embittered 
against  his  foreman  for  preventing  him  from  doing  a  day's  work  in 
private  houses,  hairdressers  against  their  employers  for  the  like 
reason,  the  pastrycook  against  the  baker  who  prevents  him  from 
baking  the  pies  of  housekeepers,  the  village  spinner  against  the 
town  spinners  who  wish  to  break  him  up,  the  rural  wine-growers 
against  the  bourgeois  who,  in  the  circle  of  seven  leagues,  strives 
to  have  their  vines  pulled  up,2  the  village  against  the  neighbor- 
ing village  whose  reduction  of  taxation  has  ruined  it,  the  over- 
taxed peasant  against  the  undertaxed  peasant,  one-half  of  a  par- 

1  Horace  Walpole,  September  5,  1789. 

1  Labeulaye,  "De  1' Administration  franjaise  sous  Louis  XVI."  (Revue  des  Cours  litt* 
raires,  IV.  743).     Albert  Babeau,  I.  iii.  (Dol6ances  et  voeux  des  corporation.'  de  Troyes). 


394  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  v 

ish  agaii/st  its  collectors  who,  to  its  detriment,  have  favored  the 
other  half.  "The  nation,"  says  Turgot,  mournfully,1  "  is  a  society 
composed  of  different  orders  badly  united  and  of  a  people  whose 
members  have  few  mutual  liens,  nobody,  consequently,  caring  for 
any  interest  but  his  own.  Nowhere  is  there  any  sign  of  an  inter- 
est in  common.  Towns  and  villages  maintain  no  more  relation 
with  each  other  than  the  districts  to  which  they  are  attached ;  they 
are  even  unable  to  agree  together  with  a  view  to  carry  out  pub- 
lic improvements  of  great  importance  to  them."  The  central 
power  for  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  rules  through  its  division  of 
power.  Men  have  been  kept  separate,  prevented  from  acting  in 
concert,  the  work  being  so  successful  that  they  no  longer  under- 
stand each  other,  each  class  ignoring  the  other  class,  each  form- 
ing of  the  other  a  chimerical  picture,  each  bestowing  on  the  other 
the  hues  of  its  own  imagination,  one  composing  an  idyl,  the 
other  framing  a  melodrama,  one  imagining  peasants  as  senti- 
mental swains,  the  other  convinced  that  the  nobles  are  horrible  ty- 
rants. 

Through  this  mutual  misconception  and  this  secular  isolation, 
the  French  lose  the  habit,  the  art  and  the  faculty  for  acting  in  an 
entire  body.  They  are  no  longer  capable  of  spontaneous  agree- 
ment and  collective  action.  No  one,  in  the  moment  of  danger, 
dares  rely  on  his  neighbors  or  on  his  equals.  No  one  knows 
where  to  turn  to  obtain  a  guide.  "A  man  willing  to  be  responsible 
for  the  smallest  district  cannot  be  found ;  and,  more  than  this,  one 
man  able  to  answer  for  another  man."2  Utter  confusion  exists 
and  there  is  no  remedy.  The  theorists  have  carried  out  their 
Utopia  and  the  savage  state  has  begun  again.  Individ- 
uals now  stand  in  juxtaposition ;  every  man  reverts  back  to  his 
original  feebleness,  while  his  possessions  and  his  life  are  at  the 
mercy  of  the  first  band  that  comes  along.  He  has  nothing  within 
him  to  control  him  but  the  sheep-like  habit  of  being  led,  of 
awaiting  an  impulsion,  of  turning  towards  the  accustomed  cen- 
tre, towards  Paris,  from  which  his  orders  have  alwayi  arrived. 
Arthur  Young  is  struck  with  this  mechanical  movement.3  Polit- 
ical ignorance  and  docility  are  everywhere  complete.  He,  a  for- 
eigner, conveys  the  news  of  Alsace  into  Burgundy :  the  insurrec- 

>  De  Tocqueville,  158. 

*  Ibid.  304  (The  words  of  Burke). 

•  Travels  in  France,  I.  240,  263. 


CHAP.  iv.  THE  PEOPLE.  395 

tion  there  had  been  terrible,  the  populace  having  sacked  the  city- 
hall  at  Strasbourg,  of  which  not  a  word  was  known  at  Dijon ; 
"yet  it  is  nine  days  since  it  happened;  had  it  been  nineteen  I 
question  if  they  would  more  than  have  received  the  intelligence." 
There  are  no  newspapers  in  the  cafe's ;  no  local  centres  of  infor- 
mation, of  resolution,  of  action.  The  province  submits  to  events 
at  the  capital;  "people  dare  not  move ;  they  dare  not  even  form 
an  opinion  before  Paris  speaks."  Monarchical  centralization 
thus  culminates.  Groups  are  deprived  of  theii  cohesiveness  and 
individuals  of  their  springs  of  action.  Only  human  dust  remains, 
and  this,  whirling  about  and  gathered  together  in  massive  force, 
is  blindly  driven  along  by  the  wind. 

III. 

We  are  all  well  aware  from  which  side  the  gale  comes,  and,  to 
assure  ourselves,  we  have  merely  to  see  how  the  reports  of  the 
Third-Estate  were  made  up.  The  lawyer,  the  petty  attorney 
of  the  rural  district,  the  envious  advocate  and  theorist,  is 
the  party  who  has  managed  the  peasant.  The  latter  insists 
that  his  statement  of  his  local  and  personal  grievances  shall 
be  set  forth  in  full  in  the  report,  on  a  statement  be- 
ing made  in  writing  and  at  length  of  his  local  and  personal 
grievances,  his  protest  against  taxes  and  deductions,  his  request 
to  have  his  dog  free  of  the  clog,  and  his  desire  to  own  a  gun  to 
use  against  the  wolves.1  The  former,  who  suggests  and  directs, 
envelopes  all  this  in  the  language  of  the  Rights  of  Man  and  that 
of  the  circular  of  Sieyes.  "For  two  months,"  writes  a  com- 
mandant at  the  South,2  "inferior  judges  and  lawyers,  with  which 
both  town  and  country  swarm,  with  a  view  to  their  election  to  the 
States- General,  have  been  racing  after  the  members  of  the  Third- 
Estate,  under  the  pretext  of  standing  by  them  and  of  giving  them 
information.  .  .  .  They  have  striven  to  make  them  believe  that, 
in  the  States-General,  they  alone  would  be  masters  and  regulate 
all  the  affairs  of  the  kingdom ;  that  the  Third-Estate,  in  selecting 
its  deputies  among  men  of  the  robe,  would  secuic  tne  might  and 
the  right  to  take  the  lead,  to  abolish  nobility  and  to  cancel  ail  its 
rights  and  privileges;  that  nobility  would  no  longer  be  heredi- 
tary ;  that  all  citizens,  in  deserving  it,  would  be  entitled  to  claim 
it;  that,  if  the  people  deputed  them,  they  would  have  accorded 

1  Beugnot,  I.  115,  116. 

*  Archives  rationales,  proces-verbaux  and  cahiers  of  the  States-General,  XIII.  p.  405. 
(Letter  of  the  Marquis  de  Fodoai,  commandant  of  Armagnac,  to  M.  Necker,  Maj  19,  1789.) 


396  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  T. 

to  the  Third-Estate  whatever  it  desired,  because  the  curates,  be- 
longing to  the  Third-Estate,  having  agreed  to  separate  from  the 
higher  clergy  and  unite  with  them,  the  nobles  and  the  clergy, 
united  together,  would  have  but  one  vote  against  two  of  the 
Third-Estate.  ...  If  the  Third-Estate  had  chosen  sensible 
townspeople  or  merchants  they  would  have  combined  without 
difficulty  with  the  other  two  orders.  But  the  assemblies  of  the 
bailiwicks  and  other  districts  were  stuffed  with  men  of  the  robe 
who  have  absorbed  all  opinions  and  striven  to  take  precedence 
of  the  others,  each,  in  his  own  behalf,  intriguing  and  conspiring  to 
be  appointed  a  deputy."  "In  Touraine,"  writes  the  intendant, 
"most  of  the  votes  have  been  bespoken  or  begged  for.  Trusty 
agents,  at  the  moment  of  voting,  placed  ready-prepared  ballots  in 
the  hands  of  the  voters,  and  put  in  their  way,  on  reaching  the 
taverns,  every  document  and  suggestion  calculated  to  excite 
their  imaginations  and  determine  their  choice  for  the  gentry  of 
the  bar."  "  In  the  stntchausste  of  Lectoure,  a  number  of  par- 
ishes have  not  been  designated  or  notified  to  send  their  reports  or 
deputies  to  the  district  assembly.  In  those  which  were  notified 
the  lawyers,  attorneys  and  notaries  of  the  small  neighboring 
towns,  have  made  up  the  list  of  grievances  themselves  without 
summoning  the  community.  .  .  .  Exact  copies  of  this  single 
rough  draft  were  made  and  sold  at  a  high  price  to  the  councils  of 
each  country  parish."  This  is  an  alarming  symptom,  one  marking 
out  in  advance  the  road  the  Revolution  is  to  take :  the  man  of 
the  people  is  indoctrinated  by  the  advocate,  the  pikeman  allowing 
himself  to  be  led  by  the  spokesman. 

The  effect  of  their  combination  is  apparent  the  first  year.  In 
Franche-Comt6 l  after  consultation  with  a  person  named  Rouget, 
the  peasants  of  the  Marquis  de  Chaila  "  determine  to  make  no 
further  payments  to  him  and  to  divide  amongst  themselves  the 
product  of  the  wood-cuttings."  In  his  paper  "  the  lawyer  states 
that  all  the  communities  of  the  province  have  decided  to  do  the 
same  thing.  .  .  .  His  consultation  is  diffused  to  such  an  extent 
around  the  country  that  many  of  the  communities  are  satisfied 
that  they  owe  nothing  more  to  the  king  nor  to  the  seigniors-  M. 
de  Marnesia,  deputy  to  the  (National)  Assembly,  has  arrived  (here) 
to  pass  a  few  days  at  home  on  account  of  his  health.  He  has 

1  Archives  nationales,  H,   784.      (Letters  of  M.  de  Langeron,  military  commandant  4 
Besancon,  October  16  and  18,  1789).     The  consultation  is  annexed. 


CHAP.  iv.  THE  PEOPLE.  397 

been  treated  in  the  rudest  and  most  scandalous  manner;  it  was 
even  proposed  to  conduct  him  back  to  Paris  under  guard.  Afte. 
his  departure  his  chateau  was  attacked,  the  doors  burst  open  and 
the  walls  of  his  garden  pulled  down.  (And  yet)  no  gentleman 
has  done  more  for  the  people  on  his  domain  than  M.  le  Marquis 
de  Marne"sia.  .  .  .  Excesses  of  every  kind  are  on  the  increase; 
I  have  constant  complaints  of  the  abuse  which  the  national  mili- 
tia make  of  their  arms,  and  which  I  cannot  remedy."  According 
to  an  utterance  in  the  National  Assembly  the  police  imagines  that 
it  is  to  be  disbanded  and  has  therefore  no  desire  to  make  ene- 
mies for  itself.  "  The  baillages  are  as  timid  as  the  police-forces ; 
I  send  them  business  constantly,  but  no  culprit  is  punished."  "  No 
nation  enjoys  liberty  so  indefinite  and  so  disastrous  to  honest  peo- 
ple ;  it  is  absolutely  against  the  rights  of  man  to  see  oneself  con- 
stantly liable  to  have  his  throat  cut  by  the  scoundrels  who  daily 
confound  liberty  with  license."  In  other  words,  the  passions,  to 
obtain  a  sanction,  have  recourse  to  theory,  and  theory,  to  secure 
its  application,  has  recourse  to  the  passions.  For  example,  near 
Liancourt,  the  Due  de  Larochefoucauld  possessed  an  uncultivated 
area  of  ground;  "  at  the  commencement  of  the  revolution,  the  pool 
of  the  town  declare  that,  as  they  form  a  part  of  the  nation,  un- 
tilled  lands  being  national  property,  this  belongs  to  them,"  and 
"  with  no  other  formality  "  they  take  possession  of  it,  divide  it  up, 
plant  hedges  and  clear  it  off.  "  This,  says  Arthur  Young,  shows 
the  general  disposition.  .  .  .  Pushed  a  little  farther  the  conse- 
quences would  not  be  slight  for  properties  in  this  kingdom."  Al- 
ready, in  the  preceding  year,  near  Rouen,  the  marauders,  who  cut 
down  and  sell  the  forests,  declare  that "  the  people  have  the  right  to 
take  whatever  they  require  for  their  necessities."  They  have  had 
the  doctrine  preached  to  them  that  they  are  sovereign,  and  they 
act  as  sovereigns.  The  condition  of  their  intellects  being  given, 
nothing  is  more  natural  than  their  conduct.  Several  millions  of 
ravages  are  thus  let  loose  by  a  few  thousand  declaimers,  the  pol- 
itics of  the  caf<§  finding  an  interpreter  and  ministrants  in  the  mob 
of  the  streets.  On  the  one  hand  brute  force  is  at  the  service  of 
the  radical  dogma.  On  the  other  hand  radical  dogma  is  at  the 
service  of  brute  force.  And  here,  in  disintegrated  France,  do  the 
two  powers  appear  together  erect  on  the  general  ruin. 

34 


CHAPTER  V. 

I. 

THEY  are  the  successors  and  executors  of  the  ancient  regime, 
and,  on  contemplating  the  way  in  which  this  engendered,  brought 
forth,  nourished,  installed  and  stimulated  them  we  cannot  avoid 
considering  its  history  as  one  long  suicide,  like  that  of  a  man 
who,  having  mounted  to  the  top  of  an  immense  ladder,  cuts  away 
from  under  his  feet  the  support  which  has  kept  him  up.  In  a 
case  of  this  kind  good  intentions  are  not  sufficient ;  to  be  liberal 
and  even  generous,  to  enter  upon  a  few  semi-reforms,  is  of  no 
avail.  On  the  contrary,  through  both  their  qualities  and  defects, 
through  both  their  virtues  and  their  vices,  the  privileged  wrought 
their  own  destruction,  their  merits  contributing  to  their  ruin  as 
well  as  their  faults. — Founders  of  society,  formerly  entitled  to 
their  advantages  through  their  services,  they  have  preserved  their 
rank  without  fulfilling  their  duties ;  their  position  in  the  local  as 
in  the  central  government  is  a  sinecure,  and  their  privileges  have 
become  abuses.  At  their  head,  the  king,  creating  France  by 
devoting  himself  to  her  as  if  his  own  property,  ended  by  sacri- 
ficing her  as  if  his  own  property ;  the  public  purse  is  his  private 
purse  while  passions,  vanities,  personal  weaknesses,  luxurious 
habits,  family  solicitudes,  the  intrigues  of  a  mistress  and  the 
caprices  of  a  wife,  govern  a  state  of  twenty-six  millions  of  men 
with  an  arbitrariness,  a  heedlessness,  a  prodigality,  an  unskilful- 
ness,  an  absence  of  consistency  that  would  scarcely  be  over- 
looked in  the  management  of  a  private  domain. — The  king  and 
the  privileged  excel  in  one  direction,  in  good-breeding,  in  good 
taste,  in  fashion,  in  the  talent  for  self-display  and  in  entertaining, 
in  the  gift  of  graceful  conversation,  in  finesse  and  in  gayety,  in 
the  art  of  converting  life  into  a  brilliant  and  ingenious  festivity, 
regarding  the  world  as  a  drawing-room  of  refined  idlers  in  which 
it  suffices  to  be  amiable  and  witty  whilst,  actually,  it  is  an  arena 
where  one  must  be  strong  for  combats,  and  a  labor?  tory  in  which 


CHAP.  v.  THE  PEOPLE.  399 

one  must  work  in  order  to  be  useful. — Through  the  habit,  per- 
fection and  sway  of  polished  intercourse  they  stamped  on  the 
French  intellect  a  classic  form,  which,  combined  with  recent 
scientific  acquisitions,  produced  the  philosophy  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  the  ill-repute  of  tradition,  the  ambition  of  recasting  all 
human  institutions  according  to  the  sole  dictates  of  reason,  the 
appliance  of  mathematical  methods  to  politics  and  morals,  the 
catechism  of  the  rights  of  man,  and  other  dogmas  of  anarch- 
ical and  despotic  character  in  the  Contrat  Social. — Once  this 
chimera  is  born  they  welcome  it  as  a  drawing-room  fancy ;  they 
use  the  little  monster  as  a  plaything,  as  yet  innocent  and  decked 
with  ribbons  like  a  pastoral  lambkin ;  they  never  dream  of  its  be- 
coming a  raging,  formidable  brute ;  they  nourish  it,  and  caress  it 
and  then,  opening  their  doors,  they  let  it  descend  into  the  streets. 
— Here,  amongst  a  middle  class  which  the  government  has 
rendered  ill-disposed  by  compromising  its  fortunes,  which  the 
privileged  have  ofkuded  by  restricting  its  ambition,  which  is 
wounded  by  inequality  through  injured  self-esteem,  the  revolu- 
tionary theory  gains  rapid  accessions,  a  sudden  asperity,  and,  in 
a  few  years,  it  finds  itself  undisputed  master  of  public  opinion. — 
At  this  moment  and  at  its  summons,  another  colossal  monster 
rises  up,  a  monster  with  millions  of  heads,  a  blind,  startled 
animal,  an  entire  people  pressed  down,  exasperated  and  suddenly 
loosed  against  the  government  whose  exactions  have  despoiled  it, 
against  the  privileged  whose  rights  have  reduced  it  to  starvation, 
without,  in  these  rural  districts  abandoned  by  their  natural  pro- 
tectors, encountering  any  surviving  authority ;  without,  in  these 
provinces  subject  to  the  yoke  of  mechanical  centralization,  a 
single  independent  group  being  left ;  without,  in  this  society  dis- 
aggregated by  despotism,  the  possibility  of  forming  any  centres 
of  initiation  and  resistance ;  without,  in  this  upper  class  disarmed 
by  its  very  humanity,  any  statesman  being  found  exempt  from 
illusion  and  capable  of  action ;  without  these  good  intentions  and 
fine  intellects  being  able  to  protect  themselves  against  the  two 
enemies  of  all  liberty  and  of  ah1  order,  against  the  contagion 
of  the  democratic  nightmare  which  disturbs  the  ablest  heads  and 
against  the  irruptions  of  the  popular  brutishness  which  perverts 
the  best  of  laws.  At  the  moment  of  opening  the  States-General 
the  course  of  ideas  and  events  is  not  only  fixed  but,  again,  ap- 
parent Each  generation,  beforehand  and  unconsciously,  bears 


400  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME.  BOOK  T 

within  itself  its  future  and  its  history ;  long  before  the  issue  the 
destinies  of  this  one  could  be  anticipated,  and,  if  the  details  fell 
within  our  comprehension  as  well  as  the  completed  whole,  we 
could  readily  accept  the  following  fiction  which  La  Harpe  com- 
posed  at  the  end  of  the  Directory,  recurring  to  his  souvenirs. 

II. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  he  says,  "  as  if  it  were  but  yesterday,  and  yet 
it  is  at  the  beginning  of  the  year  1788.  We  were  dining  with 
one  of  our  confreres  of  the  Academy,  a  grand  seignior  and  a 
man  of  intelligence.  The  company  was  numerous  and  of  every 
profession,  courtiers,  advocates,  men  of  letters  and  academicians; 
all  had  feasted  luxuriously  according  to  custom.  At  the  dessert, 
the  wines  of  Malvoisie  and  of  Constance  contributed  to  the  social 
gayety  a  sort  of  freedom  not  always  kept  within  decorous 
limits.  At  that  time  society  had  reached  the  point  at  which 
everything  may  be  expressed  that  excites  laughter.  Champfort 
had  read  to  us  his  impious  and  libertine  stories,  and  great  ladies 
had  listened  to  these  without  recourse  to  their  fans.  Hence  a 
deluge  of  witticisms  against  religion,  one  quoting  a  tirade  from 
'La  Pucelle,'  another  bringing  forward  certain  philosophical 
stanzas  by  Diderot.  .  .  .  and  with  unbounded  applause.  .  .  .  The 
conversation  becomes  more  serious ;  admiration  is  expressed  at 
the  revolution  accomplished  by  Voltaire  and  all  agree  in  its  being 
the  first  title  to  his  fame.  '  He  gave  the  tone  to  his  century, 
finding  readers  in  the  antechambers  as  well  as  in  the  drawing- 
room.'  One  of  the  guests  narrates,  bursting  with  laughter, 
what  a  hairdresser  said  to  him  while  powdering  his  hair:  'You 
see,  sir,  although  I  am  a  miserable  scrub,  I  have  no  more  religion 
than  any  one  else.'  They  conclude  that  the  Revolution  will 
soon  be  consummated,  that  superstition  and  fanaticism  must 
wholly  give  way  to  philosophy,  and  they  thus  calculate  the  proba- 
bilities of  the  epoch  and  those  of  the  future  society  which  will 
see  the  reign  of  reason.  The  most  aged  lament  not  being  able 
to  flatter  themselves  that  they  will  see  it;  the  young  rejoice 
in  a  reasonable  prospect  of  seeing  it,  and  especially  do  they 
congratulate  the  Academy  on  having  paved  the  way  for 
the  great  work  and  in  having  been  the  headquarters,  the  centre 
the  inspirer  of  freedom  of  thought. 

"  One  of  the  guests  had  taken  no  part  in  this  gay  conversation, 


CHAP.  v.  THE  PEOPLE.  401 

...  a  person  named  Cazotte,  an  amiable  and  original  man,  but, 
unfortunately,  infatuated  with  the  reveries  of  the  illuminati.  In  the 
most  serious  tone  he  begins:  'Gentlemen,'  says  he,  'be  con- 
tent; you  will  witness  this  great  revolution  that  you  so  much  de- 
sire. You  know  that  I  am  something  of  a  prophet,  and  I  re- 
peat it,  you  will  witness  it.  ...  Do  you  know  the  result  of  this 
revolution,  for  all  of  you,  so  long  as  you  remain  here?' — 'Ah !' 
exclaims  Condorcet  with  his  shrewd,  simple  air  and  smile,  'let  us 
see,  a  philosopher  is  not  sorry  to  encounter  a  prophet.' — 'You, 
Monsieur  de  Condorcet,  will  expire  stretched  on  the  floor  of  a 
dungeon ;  you  will  die  of  the  poison  you  take  to  escape  the  exe- 
cutioner, of  the  poison  which  the  felicity  of  that  era  will  compel 
you  always  to  carry  about  your  person !'  At  first,  great  astonish- 
ment was  manifested  and  then  came  an  outburst  of  laughter. 
'What  has  all  this  in  common  with  philosophy  and  the  reign  of 
reason  ? ' — '  Precisely  what  I  have  just  remarked  to  you ;  in  the 
name  of  philosophy,  of  humanity,  of  freedom,  under  the  reign 
of  reason,  you  will  thus  reach  your  end ;  and,  evidently,  the  reign 
of  reason  will  arrive,  for  there  will  be  temples  of  reason,  and,  in 
those  days,  in  all  France,  the  temples  will  be  those  alone 
of  reason.  .  .  .  You,  Monsieur  de  Champfort,  you  will  sever 
your  veins  with  twenty-two  strokes  of  a  razor  and  yet  you 
will  not  die  for  months  afterwards.  You,  Monsieur  Vicq- 
d'Azir,  you  will  not  open  your  own  veins  but  you  will  have 
them  opened  six  times  in  one  day,  in  the  agonies  of  gout,  so 
as  to  be  more  certain  of  success,  and  you  will  die  that  night. 
You,  Monsieur  de  Nicolai,  on  the  scaffold;  you,  Monsieur 
Bailly,  on  the  scaffold;  you,  Monsieur  de  Malesherbes,  on  the 
scaffold;  .  .  .  you,  Monsieur  Roucher,  also  on  the  scaffold.' — 
'But  then  we  shall  have  been  overcome  by  Turks  or  Tartars  ?' — 
'  By  no  means ;  you  will  be  governed  as  I  have  already  told  you, 
solely  by  philosophy  and  reason.  Those  who  are  to  treat  you  hi 
this  manner  will  all  be  philosophers,  will  all,  at  every  moment, 
have  on  their  lips,  the  phrases  you  have  uttered  within  the  hour, 
will  repeat  your  maxims,  will  quote,  like  yourselves,  the  stanzas 
of  Diderot  and  of  "La  Pucelle.'" — 'And  when  will  all  this  hap- 
pen?'— 'Six  years  will  not  pass  before  what  I  tell  you  will  be 
accomplished.' — 'Well,  these  are  miracles,'  exclaims  La  Haipe, 
'and  you  leave  me  out  ? ' — 'You  will  be  no  less  a  miracle,  for  you 
will  then  be  a  Christian.' — '  ^h,'  interposes  Champfort,  '  I  breathe 
34* 


402  THE  ANCIENT  REGIME  BOOK  v, 

again ;  if  we  are  to  die  only  when  La  Harpe  becomes  a  Christian 
we  are  immortals.' — 'As  to  that,  we  women,'  says  the  Duchesse 
de  Gramont, '  are  extremely  fortunate  in  being  of  no  consequence 
in  revolutions.  It  is  understood  that  we  are  not  to  blame,  and 
our  sex  .  .  .' — 'Your  sex,  ladies,  will  not  protect  you  this  time. 
.  .  .  You  will  be  treated  precisely  as  men,  with  no  difference 
whatever.  .  .  .  You,  Madame  la  Duchesse,  will  be  led  to  the 
scaffold,  you  and  many  ladies  besides  yourself,  in  a  cart  with  your 
hands  tied  behind  your  back.' — 'Ah,  in  that  event,  I  hope  to  have 
at  least  a  carriage  covered  with  black.' — '  No,  Madame,  greater 
ladies  than  yourself  will  go,  like  yourself,  in  a  cart  and  with  their 
hands  tied  like  yours.'  '  Greater  ladies !  What,  princesses  of  the 
blood!' — 'Still  greater  ladies  than  those  .  .  .'  They  began  to 
think  the  jest  carried  too  far.  Madame  de  Gramont,  to  dispel 
the  gloom,  did  not  insist  on  a  reply  to  her  last  exclamation,  con- 
tenting herself  by  saying  in  the  lightest  tone,  '  And  they  will  not 
even  leave  one  a  confessor ! ' — '  No,  Madame,  neither  you  nor 
any  other  person  will  be  allowed  a  confessor ;  the  last  of  the  con- 
demned that  will  have  one,  as  an  act  of  grace,  will  be  .  .  .'  He 
stopped  a  moment  'Tell  me,  now,  who  is  the  fortunate  mortal 
enjoying  this  prerogative  ? ' — '  It  is  the  last  that  will  remain  to 
him,  and  it  will  be  the  King  of  France.'  " 


fHB   END 


NOTES 


Note  i. 
On  the  number  of  ecclesiastics  andwbles. 

These  approximative  estimates  are  arrived  at  in  the  following  manner : 

1.  The  number  of  nobles  in  1789  was  unknown.     Tne  genealogist  Chdrin, 
in  his  "Abr£g6  chronologique  des  Edits,  etc."  (1789),  states  that  he  is  igno- 
rant of  the  number.     Moheau,  to  whom  Lavoisier  refers  in  his  report,  1791, 
is  equally  ignorant  in  this  respect.     ("Recherches  sur  la  population  de  la 
France,"  1778,  p.  105);  Lavoisier  states  the  number  as  83,000,  while  the 
Marquis  deBouil!6  ("M6moires,"  p.  50),  states  80,000  families,  neither  of 
these  authorities  advancing  proofs  of  their  statements.     I  find  in  the  "  Cata- 
logue nominatif  des  gentilshommes  en  1789,"  by  Laroque  and  De  Barthelemy, 
the  number  of  nobles  voting,  directly  or  by  proxy,  in  the  elections  of  1789, 
in  Provence,  Languedoc,  Lyonnais,  Forez,  Beaujolais,  Touraine,  Normandy, 
and  Ile-de-France,  as  9,167.     According  to  the  census  of  1790,  given  by 
Arthur  Young  in  his  "Travels  in  France,"  the  population  of  these  provinces 
was  7,757,000,  which  gives  a  proportion  of  30,000  nobles  voting  in  a  popula- 
tion of  26,000,000.     On  examining  the  law  and  on  summing  up  the  lists,  we 
find  that  each  noble  represents  somewhat  less  than  a  family,  inasmuch  as  the 
son  of  the  owner  of  a  fief  votes  if  he  is  twenty-five  years  of  age ;  I  think, 
accordingly,  that  we  are  not  far  out  of  the  way  in  estimating  the  number  of 
noble  families  at  26,000  or  28,000,  which  number,  at  five  individuals  to  the 
family,  gives  130,000  or  140,000  nobles.     The  territory  of  France  in  1789 
being  27,000  square  leagues,  and  the  population  26,000,000,  we  may  assign 
one  noble  family  to  every  square  league  of  territory  and  to  every  l,ooo  in- 
habitants. 

2.  Concerning  the  clergy  I  find  in  the  National  Archives,  among  the  eccle- 
siastical records,  the  following  enumeration  of  monks  belonging  to  28  orders : 
Grand  Augustins  694,  Petits- Peres  250,  Barnabites  90,  English  Benedictines 
52,  Benedictines  of  Cluny  298,  of  Vannes  612,  of  Saint-Maur  1,672,  Citeaux 
1, 806,  Re'collets  2,238,  Pr^montre's  399,  Pr^montr^s  ReTormSs  394,  Capucins 
3,720,  Cannes  dechausse's  555,  Grauds-Carmes  853,  Hospitaliers  de  Saint- 
Jean  de  Dieu  218,  Chartreux  1,144,  Cordeliers  2,018,   Dominicans  1,172, 
Feuillants  148,  GenoveTains  570,  Mathurins  310,  Minimes  684,  Notre-Dame 
de  la  Merci  31,  Notre-Saveur  203,  Tiers-Ordre  de  St.  Francis  365,  Saint-Jean 
is  Vignes  de  Soissons  31,  Theatins  25,  abbaye  de  Saint- Victor  21,  Maisons 
•oumises  a  1'ordinaire  305.     Tof.al  20,745  monks  in  2,489  consents.     To  thi» 


404  NOTES 

must  be  added  the  Peres  de  1'Oratoire,  de  la  Mission,  de  la  Doctrine  cnre1- 
tienne  and  some  others ;  the  total  of  monks  being  about  23,000.  As  to 
nuns,  I  have  a  catalogue  from  the  National  Archives  of  twelve  dioceses,  com- 
prising according  to  "France  eccle'siastique "  1788,  5,576  parishes:  the 
dioceses  respectively  of  Perpignan,  Tulle,  Marseilles,  Rhodes,  Saint-Flour, 
Toulouse,  le  Mans,  Limoges,  Lisieux,  Rouen,  Reims,  and  Noyon,  in  all, 
5,394  nuns  in  198  establishments.  The  proportion  is  37,000  nuns  in  1,500 
establishments  for  the  38,000  parishes  of  France.  The  total  of  regular 
clergy  thus  amounts  to  60,000  persons.  The  secular  clergy  may  be  estimated 
at  70,000:  curates  and  vicars  60,000  ("Histoirede  PEglisede  France,"  XII. 
142,  by  the  Abbe"  Guette'e) ;  prelates,  vicars-general,  canons  of  chapters, 
2,800;  collegiate  canons,  5,600;  ecclesiastics  without  livings,  3,000  (Sieyes). 
Moheau,  a  clear-headed  and  cautious  statistician,  writes  in  1778  ("Recher- 
ches,"  p.  100):  "Perhaps,  to-day,  there  are  130,000  ecclesiastics  in  the 
kingdom."  The  enumeration  of  1866  ("Statistique  de  la  France,"  popula- 
tion), gives  51,100  members  of  the  secular  clergy,  18,500  monks,  86,300 
nuns;  total,  155,900  in  a  population  of  38,000,000  inhabitants. 

Note  2. 
On  feudal  rights  and  on  the  state  of  feudal  dominion  in  1783. 

The  following  information,  for  which  I  am  indebted  to  M.  de  Boislisle,  is 
derived  from  an  act  of  partition  drawn  up  September  6,  1783. 

It  relates  to  the  estates  of  Blet  and  Brosses.  The  barony  and  estate  of 
Blet  lies  in  Bourbonnais,  two  leagues  from  Dun-le-Roi.  Blet,  says  a  me- 
morial of  an  administrator  of  the  Excise,  is  a  "good  parish;  the  soil  is  ex- 
cellent, mostly  in  wood  and  pasture,  the  surplus  being  in  tillable  land  for 
wheat,  rye  and  oats.  .  .  .  The  roads  are  bad,  especially  in  winter.  The  trade 
consists  principally  of  horned  cattle  and  embraces  grain ;  the  woods  rot  away 
on  account  of  their  remoteness  from  the  towns  and  the  difficulty  of  turning 
them  to  account." l 

"This  estate,"  says  the  act  of  valuation,  "is  in  royal  tenure  on  account  of 
the  king's  chateau  and  fortress  of  Ainay,  under  the  designation  of  the  town 
of  Blet"  The  town  was  formerly  fortified  and  its  castle  still  remains.  Its 
population  was  once  large,  "but  the  civil  wars  of  the  sixteenth  century,  and 
especially  the  emigration  of  the  protestants  caused  it  to  be  deserted  to  such 
an  extent  that  out  of  its  former  population  of  3,000  scarcely  300  remain,* 
which  is  the  fate  of  nearly  all  the  towns  in  this  country."  The  estate  of  Blet, 
for  many  centuries  in  the  possession  of  the  Sully  family,  passed,  on  the 
marriage  of  the  heiress  in  1363,  to  the  house  of  Saint-Quentin,  and  was 
then  transmitted  in  direct  line  down  to  1748,  the  date  of  the  death  of  Alex- 
ander II.  of  Saint-  Quentins,  Count  of  Blet,  governor  of  Berg-op-Zoom,  and 
father  of  three  daughters  from  whom  the  actual  heirs  descend.  These  heirs 
are  the  Count  de  Simiane,  the  Chevalier  de  Simiane,  and  the  minors  of  Bercy, 

I  Archives  rationales,  G,  319  ("  Etat  actuel  de  la  Direction  de  Bourges  au  point  de  vue  de» 
•ides,"  1774). 
*  Blet,  at  the  present  day,  contains  1,629  nhabitants. 


NOTES.  405 

each  party  owning  one-third,  represented  by  97,667  livres  in  the  Blet  estate, 
and  20,408  livres  in  the  Brosses  estate.  The  eldest,  Comte  de  Simiane,  en- 
joys, besides,  a  prtciput  (according  to  custom  in  the  Bourbonnais),  worth 
15,000  livres,  comprising  the  castle  with  the  adjoin/rig  farm  and  the  seignio- 
rial rights,  honorary  as  well  as  profitable. 

The  entire  domain,  comprising  both  estates,  is  valued  at  369,227  livres. 
The  estate  of  Blet,  comprises  1,437  arpents,  worked  by  seven  farmers  and 
furnished,  by  the  proprietor,  with  cattle  valued  at  13,781  livres.  They  pay 
together  to  the  proprietor  12,060  livres  rent  (besides  claims  for  poultry  and 
corvees).  One,  only,  has  a  large  farm,  paying  7,800  livres  per  annum,  the 
others  paying  rents  of  1,300,  740,  640,  and  240  livres  per  annum.  The 
Brosses  estate  comprises  515  arpents,  worked  by  two  farmers  to  whom  the 
proprietor  furnishes  cattle  estimated  at  3, 750  livres,  and  these  together  return 
to  the  proprietor  2,240  livres.1  These  m/tairies  are  all  poor;  only  one  of 
them  has  two  rooms  with  fire-places ;  two  or  three,  one  room  with  a  fire- 
place ;  the  others  consist  of  a  kitchen  with  an  oven  outside,  and  stables  and 
barns.  Repairs  on  the  tenements  are  essential  on  all  the  farms  except  three, 
"having  been  neglected  for  thirty  years."  "The  mill-flume  requires  to  be 
cleaned  out,  and  the  stream  whose  inundations  injure  the  large  meadow ;  also 
repairs  are  necessary  on  the  banks  of  the  two  ponds ;  on  the  church,  which 
is  the  seignior's  duty,  the  roof  being  in  a  sad  state,  the  rain  penetrating 
through  the  arch ;  "  and  the  roads  require  mending,  these  being  in  a  deplor- 
able condition  during  the  winter.  "The  restoration  and  repairs  of  these 
roads  seem  never  to  have  been  thought  of."  The  soil  of  the  Blet  estate  is 
excellent,  but  it  requires  draining  and  ditching  to  carry  off  the  water,  other- 
wise the  low  lands  will  continue  to  produce  nothing  but  weeds.  Signs  of 
neglect  and  desertion  are  everywhere  visible.  The  chateau  of  Blet  has  re- 
mained unoccupied  since  1748;  the  furniture,  accordingly,  is  almost  all 
decayed  and  useless;  in  1748  this  was  worth  7,612  livres,  and  now  it  is  esti- 
mated at  l,ooo  livres.  "The  water-power  costs  nearly  as  much  to  maintain 
as  the  income  derived  from  it.  The  use  of  plaster  as  manure  is  unknown," 
and  yet  "in  the  land  of  plaster  it  costs  almost  nothing."  The  ground, 
moist  and  very  good,  would  grow  excellent  live  hedges ;  and  yet  the  fields 
are  enclosed  with  bare  fences  against  the  cattle,  "which  expense,  say  the 
farmers,  is  equal  to  a  third  of  the  net  income."  This  domain,  as  just  de- 
scribed, is  valued  as  follows  : 

1.  The  estate  of  Blet,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  country  for  noble 
estates,  is  valued  at  rate  twenty-five,  namely,  373,000  livres,  from  which 
must  be  deducted  a  capital  of  65,056  livres,  representing  the  annual  charges 
(the  fixed  salary  of  the  curate,  repairs,  etc.),  not  including  personal  charges 
like  the  vingtiemes.     Its  net  revenue  per  annum  is  12,300  livres,  and  is  worth, 
net,  308,003  livres. 

2.  The  estate  of  Brosses  is  estimated  at  rate  twenty-two,  ceasing  to  be 
noble  through  the  transfer  of  judicial  and  fief  rights  to  that  of  Blet.     Thus 
rated  it  is  worth  73,583  livres,  from  which  must  be  deducted  a  capital  of 

1  The  farms  of  Blet  and  Brosses  really  produce  nothing  for  the  proprietor,  inasmuch  as  the 
tithes  and  the  champart  (field-rents),  (articles  22  and  23),  are  comprehended  in  ti>«  »ate  of 
the  leases. 


406  NOTES. 

12,359  livres  for  actual  charges,  the  estate  bringing  in  3, 140  livres  per  annum 
and  worth,  net.  61,224  livre*s. 

These  revenues  are  derived  from  the  following  sources  : 

1.  Rights  of  the  high,  low  and  middle  courts  of  justice  over  the  entire 
territory  of  Blet  and  other  villages,  Brosses  and  Jalay.     The  upper  courts, 
according  to  an  act  passed  at  the  Chatelet,  April  29,  1702,   "  take  cognizance 
of  all  actions,  real  and  personal,  civil  and  criminal,  even  actions  between 
nobles  and  ecclesiastics,  relating  to  seals  and  inventories  of  movable  effects, 
tutelages,  curacies,  the  administration  of  the  property  of  minors,  of  domains, 
and  of  the  customary  dues  and  revenues  of  the  seigniory,  etc." 

2.  Rights  of  the  forests,  edict  of  1707.      The  seignior's  warden  decides 
in  all  cases  concerning  waters,  and  woods,  and  customs,  and  crimes  relating 
to  fishing  and  hunting. 

3.  Right  of  voirie,  or  the  police  of  the  highways,  streets,  and  buildings 
(excepting  the  great  main  roads).     The  seignior  appoints  a  bailly,  warden 
and  road  overseer,  one  M.  Theurault  (at  Sagonne),  a  fiscal  attorney,  Baujard 
(at  Blet);  he  may  remove  them  "in  case  they  make  no  returns."     "The 
rights  of  the  greffe  were  formerly  secured  to  the  seignior,  but  as  it  is  now 
very  difficult  to  find  intelligent  persons   in  the  country  able  to  fulfil  its 
functions,  the  seignior  abandons  his  rights  to  those  whom  it  may  concern." 
(The  seignior  pays  forty-eight  livres  per  annum  to  the  bailly  to  hold  his 
court  once  a  month,  and  twenty-four  livres  per  annum  to  the  fiscal  attorney 
to  attend  them). 

He  receives  the  fines  and  confiscations  of  cattle  awarded  by  his  officers. 
The  profit  therefrom,  an  average  year,  is  eight  livres. 

He  must  maintain  a  jail  and  a  jailer.  (It  is  not  stated  whether  there  was 
one).  No  sign  of  a  gibbet  is  found  in  the  seigniory. 

He  may  appoint  twelve  notaries ;  only  one,  in  fact,  is  appointed  at  Blet 
"and  he  has  nothing  to  do,"  an  M.  Baujard,  fiscal  attorney.  This  commis- 
sion is  assigned  him  gratuitously,  to  keep  up  the  privilege,  "otherwise  it 
would  be  impossible  to  find  any  one  sufficiently  intelligent  to  perform  its 
functions." 

He  appoints  a  sergeant,  but,  for  a  long  time,  this  sergeant  pays  no  rent  or 
anything  for  his  lodging. 

4.  Personal  and  real   faille.      In   Bourbonnais  the   laille  -,vas  formerly 
serf,  and  the  serfs  mainmortable.      "Seigniors  still  possessing  rights  of 
ivrdtlage,  well  established  throughout  their  fiefs  and  courts,  at  the  present 
iime,  enjoy  rights  of  succession  to  their  vassals  in  all  cases,  even  to  the 
prejudice  of  their  children  if  non-resident  and  no  longer  dwelling  under  their 
roofs."     But  in  1255,  Hodes  de  Sully,  having  granted  a  charter,  renounced 
this  right  of  real  and  personal  faille  for  a  right  of  bourgeoisie,  sti'l  main- 
tained, (see  further  on). 

5.  Right  to  unclaimed  property,  cattle,  furniture,  effects,  stray  swarms  of 
bees,  treasure-trove ;  (no  profits  from  this  for  twenty  years  past). 

6.  Right  to   property  of   deceased   persons   without  heirs,    to   that  of 
deceased  bastards,  the  possessions  of  condemned  criminals  either  to  death, 
to  the  galleys  or  to  exile,  etc.,  (no  profit). 

7.  Right  of  the  chase  and  of  fishing,  the  latter  worth  fifteen  livres  pa 
annum. 


NOTES.  407 

8.  Right  of  bourgeoisie  (see  article  4),  according  to  tht  charter  of  1255, 
and  the  court-roll  of  1484.     The  wealthiest  pay  annually  twelve  bushels  of 
oats  at  forty  livres  and  twelve  deniers  parasis  ;  the  less  wealthy  nine  bushels 
and  nine  deniers ;  all  others  six  bushels  and  six  deniers.     "These  rights  of 
bourgeoisie  are  well  established,  set  forth  in  all  court-rolls  and  acknowledg- 
ments rendered  to  the  king  and  perpetuated  by  numerous  admissions ;  the 
motives  that  have  led  former  stewards  and  fermiers  to  interrupt  the  collection 
of  these  cannot  be  divined.     Many  of  the  seigniors  in  Bovubonnais  have  the 
Denefit  of  and  exact  these  taxes  of  their  vassals  by  virtue  of  titles  much  more 
open  to  question  than  those  of  the  seigniors  of  Blet." 

9.  Rights  of  protection  of  the  chateau  of  Blet.     The  royal  edict  of  1497, 
fixing  this  charge  for  the  inhabitants  of  Blet  and  all  those  dwelling  within 
the  jurisdiction  of  its  tribunals,  those  of  Charly,  Boismarvier,  etc.,  at  five 
sous  per  fire  per  annum,  which  has  been  carried  out.     "Only  lately  has  the 
collection  of  this  been  suspended,  notwithstanding  its  recognition  at  no  late 
date,  the  inhabitants  all  admitting  themselves  to  be  subject  to  the  said  guet 
et  garde  of  the  chateau. 

10.  Right  of  toll  on  all  merchandise  and  provisions  passing  through  the 
town  of  Blet,  except  grain,  flour  and  vegetables.     (A  trial  pending  before 
the  Council  of  State  since  1727  and  not  terminated  in  1745;  "the  collection 
thereof,  meanwhile,  being  suspended"). 

1 1.  Right  of  potage  on  wines  sold  at  retail  in  Blet,  ensuring  to  the  seignioi 
nine  pints  of  wine  per  cask,  leased  in  1782  for  six  years,  at  sixty  livres  per 
annum. 

12.  Right  of  boucherie  or  of  taking  the  tongues  of  all  animals  slaughtered 
in  the  town,   with,   additionally,   the  heads  and  feet  of  all  calves.     No 
slaughter-house  at  Blet,  and  yet  "during  the  harvesting  of  each  year  about 
twelve  head  of  cattle  are  slaughtered."    This  tax  is  collected  by  the  steward 
and  is  valued  at  three  livres  per  annum. 

13.  Right  of  fairs  and  markets,  aunage,  weight  and  measures.     Five  fairs 
per  annum  and  one  market-day  each  week,  but  little  frequented ;  no  grain- 
market.     This  right  is  valued  at  twenty-four  livres  per  annum. 

14.  Corve'es  of  teams  and  manual  labor,  through  seigniorial  right,   on 
ninety-seven  persons  at  Blet  (twenty-two  Corve'es  of  teams  and  seventy-five 
of  manual  labor),  twenty-six  persons  at  Brosses  (five  teams  and  twenty-one 
hands).      The  seignior  pays  six  sous  for  food,  each  corve"e,  on  men,  and 
twelve  sous  on  each  corv/e  of  four  oxen.      "Among  those  subject  to  this 
cnve'e  the  larger  number  are  reduced  almost  to  beggary  and  have  large 
families  which  often  induces  the  seignior  not  to  exact  this  right  rigorously." 
The  reduced  value  of  the  corv/es  is  forty-nine  livres  fifteen  sols. 

15.  Banalitt  (socome),  of  the  mill,  (a  sentence  of  1736  condemning  Roy, 
a  laborer,  to  have  his  grain  ground  in  the  mill  of  Blet,  and  to  pay  a  fine  for 
having  ceased  to  have  grain  ground  there  during  three  years).     The  miller 
reserves  a  sixteenth  of  the  flour  ground.     The  district-mill,  as  well  as  the 
windmill,  with  six  arpents  adjoining,  are  leased  at  600  livres  per  annum. 

16.  Banalite"  of  the  oven.     Agreement  of  1537  between  the  seignior  and 
nis  vassals :  he  allows  them  the  privilege  of  a  small  oven  in  their  domicile 
of  three  squares,  six  inches  each,  to  bake  pies,  biscuits  and  cakes ;  in  other 


*o8  NOTES. 

respects  subject  to  the  district  oven.  He  is  endtled  to  one-sixteenth  of  the 
dough;  this  right  might  produce  150  livres  annually,  but,  for  several  years, 
the  oven  has  been  dilapidated. 

17.  Right  of  the  colombler,  dove-cot.     The  chateau  park  contains  one. 

18.  Right  of  bordelage.     (The  seignior  is  heir-at-law,  except  when  the 
children  of  the  deceased  live  with  their  parents  at  the  time  of  his  death). 
This  right  covers  an  area  of  forty-eight  arpents.     For  twenty  years,  through 
neglect  or  from  other  causes,  he  has  derived  nothing  from  this. 

19.  Right  over  waste  and  abandoned  ground  and  to  alluvial  accumulations. 

20.  Right,  purely  honorary,  of  seat  and  burial  in  the  choir,  of  incense  and 
of  special  prayer,  of  funeral  hangings  outside  and  inside  the  church. 

21.  Rights  of  lods  et  ventes  on  copyholders,  due  by  the  purchaser  of 
property  liable  to  this  lien,  in  forty  days.      "In  Bourbonnais,  the  lods  et 
•ventes  are  collected  at  a  third,  a  quarter,  at  the  sixth,  eighth  and  twelfth  rate." 
The  seignior  of  Blet  and  Brosses  collects  at  rate  six.     It  is  estimated  that 
sales  are  made  once  in  eighty  years;    these  rights  bear  on  1,356  arpents 
which  are  worth,  the  best,  192  livres  per  arpent,  the  second  best,  no  livres, 
the  poorest,  75  livres.     At  this  rate  the  1,350  arpents  are  worth   162,750 
livres.     A  discount  of  one-quarter  of  the  lods  et  ventes  is  allowed  to  pur- 
chasers.    Annual  revenue  of  this  right  254  livres. 

22.  Right  of  tithe  and  of  chantage.     The  seignior  has  obtained  all  tithe 
rights,  save  a  few  belonging  to  the  canons  of  Dun-le-Roi  and  to  the  prior  of 
Chaumont.     The  tithes  are  levied  on  the  thirteenth  sheaf.     They  are  com 
prised  in  the  leases. 

23.  Right  of  terrage  or  champart:  the  right  of  collecting,  after  the  tithes, 
a  portion  of  the  produce  of  the  ground.     "In  Bourbonnais,  the  terrage  is 
collected  in  various  ways,  on  the  third  sheaf,  on  the  fifth,  sixth,  seventh,  and 
commonly  one-quarter;  at  Blet  it  is  the  twelfth."     The  seignior  of  Blet 
collects  terrage  only  on  a  certain  number  of  the  farms  of  his  seigniory;  "in 
relation  to  Brosses,  it  appears  that  all  domains  possessed  by  copyholders  are 
subject  to  the  right."    These  rights  of  terrage  are  comprised  in  the  leases  of 
the  farms  of  Blet  and  of  Brosses. 

24.  Cens,  surcens  and  rentes  due  on  real  property  of  different  kinds,  houses, 
fields,  meadows,  etc.,  situated  in  the  territory  of  the  seigniory.     In  the 
seigniory  of  Blet,  810  arpents,  divided  into  511  portions,  in  the  hands  of  1 20 
copyholders,  are  in  this  condition,  and  their  cens  annually  consists  of  137 
francs  in  money,  sixty-seven  bushels  of  wheat,  three  of  barley,  159  of  oats, 
sixteen  hens,  130  chickens,  six  cocks  and  capons;    the  total  valued  at  575 
francs.     On  the  Brosses  estate,  eighty-five  arpents,  divided  into  112  parcels, 
in  the  hands  of  twenty  copyholders,  are  in  this  condition,  and  their  total 
cens  is  fourteen  francs  money,  seventeen  bushels  of  wheat,  thirty- two  of  bar- 
ley, twenty-six  hens,  three  chickens  and  one  capon ;  the  whole  valued  at  126 
francs. 

25.  Rights  over  the  commons  (124  arpents  in  Blet  and  164  arpents  in 
Brosses). 

The  vassals  have  on  these  only  the  right  of  use.  "Almost  the  whole  of 
die  land,  on  which  they  exercise  this  right  of  pasturage,  belongs  to  the 
seigniors,  save  this  right  with  which  they  are  burdened :  it  is  granted  only 
to  a  few  individuals." 


NOTES.  409 

so.  Rights  over  thefefs  mouvants  of  the  barony  of  Blet.  Some  are  situ- 
ated in  Bourbonnais,  nineteen  being  in  this  condition.  In  Bourbonnais,  the 
fiefs,  even  when  owned  by  plebeians,  simply  owe  la  bouche  et  les  mains  to  the 
seignior  at  each  mutation.  Formerly  the  seignior  of  Blet  enforced,  in  this 
case,  the  right  of  redemption  which  has  been  allowed  to  fall  into  desuetude. 
Others  are  situated  in  Berry  where  the  right  of  redemption  is  exercised. 
One  fief  in  Berry,  that  of  Cormesse  held  by  the  archbishop  of  Bourges, 
comprising  eighty-five  arpents,  besides  a  portion  of  the  tithes,  and  producing 
2, 100  livres  per  annum,  admitting  a  mutation  every  twenty  years,  annually 
brings  to  the  seignior  oi  Blet  105  livres. 

Besides  the  charges  indicated  there  are  the  following : 

1.  To  the  curate  of  Blet,  his  fixed  salary.     According  to  royal  enactment 
in  1686,  this  should  be  300  livres.     According  to  arrangement  in  1692,  the 
curate,  desirous  of  assuring  himself  of  this  fixed  salary,  yielded  to  the  seign- 
ior all  the  dimes,  novales,  etc.     The  edict  of  1 768  having  fixed  the  curate's 
salary  at  500  livres,  the  curate  claimed  this  sum  through  writs.     The  canons 
of  Dun-le-Roi  and  the  prior  of  Chaumont,  possessing  tithes  on  the  territory 
of  Blet,  were  obliged  to  pay  a  portion  of  it.    At  present  it  is  at  the  charge  of 
the  seignior  of  Blet. 

2.  To  the  guard,  besides  his  lodging,  warming  and  the  use  of  three 
arpents,  200  livres. 

3.  To  the  steward  or  registrar,  to  preserve  the  archives,  look  after  repairs, 
collect  lods  et  ventes,  and  fines,  432  livres,  besides  the  use  of  ten  arpenls. 

4.  To  the  king,  the  vingtiemes.     Formerly  the  estates  of  Blet  and  Brosses 
paid  810  livres  for  the  two  vingtiemes  and  the  two  sous  per  livre.     After  the 
establishment  of  the  third  vingtieme  they  paid  1,216  livres. 

Note  3. 

Difference  between  the  actual  and  nominal  revenues  if  ecclesiastical  dignities 
and  benefices. 

According  to  Raudot  ("La  France  avant  la  Revolution,"  p.  84),  one-half 
extra  must  be  added  to  the  official  valuation;  according  to  Boiteau  ("Etat 
de  la  France  en  1789,"  p.  195),  this  must  be  tripled  and  even  quadrupled. 
I  think  that,  for  the  episcopal  sees,  one-half  extra  should  be  added  and,  for 
the  abbeys  and  priories,  double,  and  sometimes  triple  and  even  quadruple 
the  amount.  The  following  facts  show  the  variation  oetween  official  and 
actual  sums. 

1.  In  the  "Almanach  Royal,"  the  bishopric  of  Troyes  is  valued  at  14,000 
livres ;  in  "France  Ecctesiastique  of  1788,"  at  50,000.     According  to  Albert 
Babeau  ("  Histoire  de  la  Revolution  dans  le  department  de  1'Aube  "),  it  bring* 
in  70,000  livres.     In  "France  Eccle'siaslique,"  the  bishopric  of  Strasbourg 
is  put  down  at  400,000  livres.     According  to  the  Due  de  LeVis  ("Souve- 
nirs," p.  156)  it  brings  in  at  least  600,000  livres  income. 

2.  In  the  same  work,  the  abbey  of  Jumieges  is  assigned  for  23,000  livres. 
I  find,  in  the  papers  of  the  ecclesiastic  committee,  it  brings  to  the  abb6 
50,000  livres.     In  this  work  the  abbey  of  Beze  is  estimated  at  8,000  livres. 
I  find  it  bringing  to  the  monks  alone  30,000,  while  the  abbess  portion  la  at 

35 


4io  NOTES. 

least  as  large.  ("  De  1'Etat  religieux,  par  les  abbe's  de  Bonnefoi  et  Bernard," 
1784).  The  abbe1  thus  receives  30,000  livres.  Bernay  (Eure),  is  officially 
reported  at  16,000.  The  "Doteances"  of  the  cahiers  estimate  it  at  57,000. 
Saint-  Amand  is  put  down  as  bringing  to  the  Cardinal  of  York  6,000  livrea 
and  actually  brings  him  100,000.  (De  Luynes,  XIII.  215). 

Clairvaux,  in  the  same  work,  is  put  down  at  9,000,  and  in  Warroquier 
("Etat  Ge'ne'ral  de  la  France  en  1789,")  at  60,000.  According  to  Beugnot, 
who  belongs  to  the  country,  and  a  practical  man,  the  abW  has  from  300,000 
to  400,000  livres  income. 

Samt-Faron,  says  Boiteau,  set  down  at  18,000  livres,  is  worth  120,000 
livres. 

The  abbey  of  Saint-Germain  des  Pres  (in  the  stewardships),  is  put  down 
at  100,000  livres.  The  Comte  de  Clermont,  who  formerly  had  it,  leased  it 
at  160,000  livres,  "not  including  reserved  fields  and  all  that  the  farmers 
furnished  in  straw  and  oats  for  his  horses."  (Jules  Cousin,  "Comte  de 
Clermont  and  his  court") 

Saint-  Waas  d'  Arras,  according  to  "La  France  EcclSsiastique,"  brings 
40,000  livres.  Cardinal  de  Rohan  refused  1,000  livres  per  month  for  his 
portion  offered  to  him  by  the  monks.  (Due  de  LeVis,  "Souvenirs,"  p.  156). 
Its  value  thus  is  about  300,000  livres. 

Remiremont,  the  abbess  always  being  a  royal  princess,  one  of  the  most 
powerful  monasteries,  the  richest  and  best  endowed,  is  officially  valued  at  the 
ridiculous  sum  of  15,000  livres. 


On  the  education  of  princes  and  princesses. 

An  entire  chapter  might  be  devoted  to  this  subiect  ;  I  shall  cite  but  a  few 
texts. 

(Barbier,  "Journal,"  October,  1670).  The  Dauphine  has  just  given  birth 
to  an  infant. 

"La  jeune  princesse  en  est  a  sa  quatrieme  nourrice.  .  .  .  J'ai  appris  £ 
cette  occasion  que  tout  se  fait  par  forme  &  la  cour,  suivant  un  protocole  de 
m6decin,  en  sorte  que  c'est  un  miracle  d'elever  un  prince  et  une  princesse. 
La  nourrice  n'a  d'autres  foncdons  que  de  donner  a  tfiter  a  1'enfant  quand  on 
le  lui  apporte  ;  elle  ne  peut  pas  lui  toucher.  II  y  a  des  remueuses  et  femmes 
pr6pos£es  pour  cela,  mais  qui  n'ont  point  d'ordre  a  recevoir  de  la  nourrice. 
II  y  a  des  heures  pour  remuer  1'enfant,  trois  ou  quatre  fois  dans  la  journde. 
Si  1'enfant  dort,  on  le  reveille  pour  le  remuer.  Si,  apres  avoir  e"t£  change',  il 
fait  dans  ses  langes,  il  reste  ainsi  trois  ou  quatre  heures  dans  son  ordure. 
Si  une  epingle  le  pique,  la  nourrice  ne  doit  pas  1'dter;  il  faut  chercher  et  at- 
tendre  une  autre  femme  ;  1'enfant  crie  dans  tous  ces  cas,  il  se  tourmente  et 
s'e"chauffe,  en  sorte  que  c'est  une  vraie  misere  que  toutes  ces  ce're'monies." 

(Madame  de  Genlis,  "Souvenirs  de  Fe"licie,"  p.  74.  Conversation  with 
Madame  Louise,  daughter  of  Louis  XV.,  and  recently  become  a  Carmelite). 

"  I  should  like  to  know  what  troubled  you  most  in  getting  accustomed  to 
your  new  profession  ?  " 

"You  could  never  imagine,"  ihe  replied,  smiling.     "It  was  the  descent 


NOTES.  411 

of  a  small  flight  of  s;eps  alone  by  myself.  At  first  it  seemed  to  ms  a  diead- 
ful  precipice,  and  I  was  obliged  to  sit  down  on  the  steps  and  slide  down  in 
that  attitude."  "A  princess,  indeed,  who  had  never  descended  any  but  the 
grand  staircase  at  Versailles,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  her  cavalier  in  waiting 
and  surrounded  by  pages,  necessarily  trembled  on  finding  herself  alone  on 
the  brink  of  steep  winding  steps.  (Such  is)  the  education,  so  absurd  in 
many  respects,  generally  bestowed  on  persons  of  this  rank  ;  always  watched 
from  infancy,  followed,  assisted,  escorted  and  everything  anticipated,  (they 
are  thus,  in  great  part,  deprived  of  the  faculties  with  which  nature  has  en. 
dowed  them." 

Madame  Campan,  "Me'moires,"  I.  18,  28. 

"  Madame  Louise  often  told  me  that,  although  twelve  years  of  age,  she 
had  not  fully  learned  the  alphabet.  .  .  . 

"It  was  necessary  to  decide  absolutely  whether  a  certain  water-bird  was 
fat  or  lean.  Madame  Victoire  consulted  a  bishop.  .  .  .  He  replied  that,  in 
a  doubt  of  this  kind,  after  having  the  bird  cooked  it  would  be  necessary  to 
puncture  in  on  a  very  cold  silver  dish  and,  if  the  juice  coagulated  in  one- 
quarter  of  an  hour,  the  bird  might  be  considered  fat.  Madame  Victoire  im- 
mediately put  it  to  test;  the  juice  did  not  coagulate.  The  princess  was 
highly  delighted  as  she  was  very  fond  of  this  species  of  game.  Fasting  (on 
religious  grounds),  to  which  Madame  Victoire  was  addicted,  put  her  to  in- 
convenience ;  accordingly  she  awaited  the  midnight  stroke  of  Holy  Saturday 
impatiently.  A  dish  of  chicken  and  rice  and  other  succulent  dishes  were 
then  at  once  served  up." 

("Journal  de  Dumont  d'Urville,"  commanding  the  vessel  on  which  Charles 
X.  left  France  in  1830.  Quoted  by  Vaulabelle,  History  of  the  Restoration, 
VIII.  p.  465). 

"The  king  and  the  Due  d'Angoulfime  questioned  me  on  my  various 
campaigns,  but  especially  on  my  voyage  around  the  world  in  the  'Astrolabe.' 
My  narrative  seemed  to  interest  them  very  much,  their  interruptions  consist- 
ing of  questions  of  remarkable  naivete",  showing  that  they  possessed  no  no- 
tions  whatever,  even  the  most  superficial,  on  the  sciences  or  on  voyages, 
being  as  ignorant  on  these  points  as  any  of  the  old  rentiers  of  the  Marais." 


4ia 


NOTES. 


On  the  rate  of  direct  taxation. 

The  following  figures  are  extracted  from  the  proces-verbaux  of  the  pro 
rincial  assemblies  (1778-1787). 


Tallle. 

Access- 
lores  de 
la  taille. 

Capitation 
tafflable. 

Impot 
des  routes. 

Total  en 
multiples 
de  la  taille. 

Ile-de-France,  ....... 

4,206,04.0 

2,207,826 

2,680,287 

1  1  Q.oSo 

2.23 

l,3C6,Qi»4 

003,6';'* 

898,089 

315,869 

•»;* 

2,01 

G&ie'ralite'  de  Rouen,  . 
Generality  de  Caen,.. 

2,671,939 
1,939,665 
821,921 

1,595,051 
1,212,429 
448,4^1 

1,715,592 
1,187,823 
464,01:1: 

598,2581 

659,034 
236,900 

2,46 
2,56 
2,  "JO 

2,  3OQ.68  1 

1,  113,  766 

I,4O3,4O2 

520,000 

2,3O 

1,062,392 

911,883 

734,8oQ 

462,883 

2,04. 

Orl£anais,  ........... 

2.  3?3,  OQ2 

!,2C6.I2C 

lywn 

i,  48?,  720 

1586,381; 

2,34. 

Champagne,  ......... 

I.9B7.84O 

I,4XQ,78o 

1.377,371 

807,280 

2 

General^  d'Alen9on, 
Auvergne,  ......  .... 

1,742,655 
I,QQQ,O4O 

I,I20,O4I 
I,  -200,6  78 

1,067,849 
1,7x3,026 

435>637 

1  1  0.4.68 

2,47 

2.  7O 

Geneialit6  d'Auch,... 
Haute-Guyenne,  

1,440,533 
2,I3I,3H 

931,261 
1,267,619 

797,268 
1,268,855 

316,909* 
3o8,9938 

2,35 
2,47 

The  principal  of  the  taille  being  one,  the  figures  in  the  last  column  repre- 
sent, for  each  province,  the  total  of  the  four  taxes  in  relation  to  the  taille. 
The  average  of  all  these  is  2.53.  The  accessories  of  the  taille,  the  poll-tax 
and  the  tax  for  roads,  are  fixed  for  each  assessable  party,  pro  rata  to  his 
taille.  Multiply  the  sum  representing  the  portion  of  the  taille  deducted 
from  a  net  income,  by  2.53  to  know  the  sum  of  the  four  taxes  put  together 
and  deducted  from  this  income. 

This  part  varies  from  province  to  province,  from  parish  to  parish,  and 
even  from  individual  to  individual.  Nevertheless  we  may  estimate  that  the 
taille,  on  the  average,  especially  when  bearing  on  a  small  peasant  proprietor, 
without  protector  or  influence,  abstracts  one-sixth  of  his  net  income,  say 
16  fr.  66  c.  on  100  francs.  For  example,  according  to  the  declarations  of 
the  provincial  assemblies,  in  Champagne,  it  deducts  3  sous  and  %  of  a 
denier  per  livre,  or  15  fr.  28  c.  on  100  francs ;  in  the  Ile-de-France,  35 
livres  14  sous  on  240  livres,  or  14  fr.  87  c.  on  loo ;  in  Auvergne,  4  sous 
per  livre  of  the  net  income,  that  is  to  say,  20  per  100.  Finally,  in  the 
generalship  of  Auch,  the  provincial  assembly  estimates  that  the  taille  and 
accessories  absorb  three-tenths  of  the  net  revenue,  by  which  it  is  evident 
that,  taking  the  amounts  of  the  provincial  budget,,  the  taille  alone  absorbs 
aighteen  fr.  ten  c.  on  100  francs  of  revenue. 

Thus  stated,  if  the  taille  as  principal  absorbs  one-sixth  of  the  net  income 
of  the  subject  of  the  taille,  that  is  to  say,  16  fr.  66  c.  on  100,  the  total  of 

1  This  amount  is  not  given  by  the  provincial  assembly ;  to  fill  up  this  blank  I  have  taken 
the  tenth  of  the  taille,  of  the  accessories  and  of  the  assessable  poll-tax,  this  being  the  mode 
followed  by  the  provincial  assembly  of  Lyonnais.  By  the  declaration  of  June  2,  1787,  the 
tax  on  roads  may  be  carried  to  one-sixth  of  the  three  preceding  imposts ;  it  is  commonly  one- 
tenth  or,  in  relation  to  the  principal  of  the  taille,  one-quarter. — *  Same  remark. — *  The  pr» 
rincial  assembly  carries  this  amount  to  one-eleventh  of  the  taillt  and  accessories  combined, 


NOTES.  413 

the  four  imposts  above  mentioned,  takes  16  fir.  66  c.  X  2,53  =  42  fr.  15  c.  on 
100  fr.  income.  To  which  must  be  added  II  fr.  for  the  two  vingtttmtt 
and  4  sous  per  livre  added  to  the  first  vingttime,  total  53  fr.  15  c.  direct  tax 
en  IOO  livres  income  subject  to  the  faille. 

The  dime,  tithe,  being  estimated  at  a  seventh  of  the  net  income,  abstract* 
in  addition  14  fr.  28  c.  The  feudal  dues  being  valued  at  the  same  sum  also 
take  off  14  fr.  28  c.,  total  28  fr.  56  c. 

Sum  total  of  deductions  of  the  direct  royal  tar,  of  the  ecclesiastic  tithes, 
and  of  feudal  dues,  81  fr.  71  c.  on  100  fr.  income.  There  remain  to  the  tax 
payer  18  fr.  39  c. 


INDEX 


Absenteeism,  40,  43,  50;  destructive 

to  sympathy,  50-2. 
Adjudicators  of  taxes,  358. 
Agriculture,  backward  condition  of, 

339- 

Alienation  of  peasantry  from  nobles, 
causes  of,  40. 

Ambassadors,  display  made  by, 
116-17. 

Appanages,  15-16. 

Architects  of  the  edifice  of  the  future, 
«& 

Aristocracy,  the,  an  attar  of  roses, 
103-4  ;  anomalous  position  of,  297  ; 
undermine  their  own  ground, 
298-9;  inaugurate  reforms,  302-3; 
proofs  of  benevolence  given  by, 
302-3  ;  lay  aside  their  distinctive 
badges,  311,  312;  aspire  to  liter- 
ary honors,  313-14;  Champfort  on 
origin  of,  321-2  ;  Sieyes  on  origin 
of,  322.  (See  Nobles,  Privileged 
Classes,  etc.) 

Army,  the,  inequality  in,  390;  re- 
cruited from  the  lowest  class, 
391-2  ;  become  politicians,  392. 

B 

Barbarians,  attitude  of,  towards  the 

clergy,  2. 
Barbier   on   the    situation   In    1750, 

315-17. 

Beaumarchais,  276. 
Beggars,  arrests  of,  384-5. 
Belle-Isle,  Marechal  de,  116-17. 
Benevolence,  proofs  of,  given  by  the 
aristocracy     302-3;    by    the    king, 


Bon-mot,  on  the  Abbfe  Terray's  re- 
trenchments, 126;  value  attached 
to  a,  126-7. 


Bourgeoisie,  easily  irritated,  519-01 

(See  Third -Estate.) 
Bourges,  in  1753,  47. 
Bread,  cost  of,  340 ;  results  of  a  scax< 

city  of,  389. 

Bread-riots  from  1725  to  1789,  334. 
Brigandage,  383,  387-8. 
Brittany,    mutual   affection  betwee* 

lords  and  vassals  in,  si.-a. 
Buffon,  172,  174,  175  note. 
Bureaucracy,  78. 


Calonne,  71,  83. 

Calculus,  Infinitesimal,  discovery  of, 
171. 

Canary-bird,  miniature  of  a,  131. 

Capitation-tax,  18. 

Centralization,  78. 

Ceremonial  royal,  engrossing  to  chief 
actor,  104-7;  lasts  all  day,  107-9; 
Frederick  II. 's  opinion  of,  109. 

Champfort  on  origin  of  the  aris- 
tocracy, 321-2. 

Changes  made  in  the  name  of  Reason, 
250-1. 

Chanteloup,  employments  at,  144-5. 

Charities  of  the  clergy,  33-5. 

Charlemagne,  disorganization  after,  6. 

Chase,  the,  feudal  rights  of,  well- 
founded,  55 ;  a  hardship  to  the 
farmer,  56-9. 

Children,  neglected  by  their  parents, 
I35~6 ;  extremely  submissive  to 
them,  135;  dress  and  manners  of, 
136-8,  273 ;  theatricals  employed  In 
education  of,  154. 

Church,  the,  regarded  as  dangeroui 
to  the  State,  249-50. 

Citizen,  a  new  word,  295. 

Civility,  graded,  an  insult,  321. 

Civilizers,  the  clergy  the  earliest,  1-5, 


INDEX. 


4'J 


Classic  spirit,  the,  neglects  facts,  aoo ; 
natural  working  of,  201 ;  superficial 
work  of,  201-3.  (See  Mind.) 

Clergy,  the  earliest  civilizers,  1-5 ; 
guardians  of  human  attainments,  3 ; 
their  share  in  public  affairs,  3  ;  their 
example  and  teaching,  3-5 ;  grati- 
tude of  society  towards,  5 ;  great 
wealth  of,  14-15 ;  exempt  from  taxa- 
tion, 18 ;  as  feudal  seigniors,  19-  so; 
charities  of,  53-5 ;  assembly  of,  61 ; 
hardships  of  the  lower,  73-7 ;  free- 
dom of  manners  of,  150-2 ;  scepti- 
cism and  immorality  of  the  higher, 
292-4. 

Clothing,  peasants',  341-2. 

Collectors  of  taxes,  obliged  to  serve, 
354 ;  held  responsible,  354-5 ;  wo- 
men, 354-5 ;  their  extortions,  356-7; 
everywhere  insolvent,  369. 

Comparison  of  France  with  Germany 
and  England,  60,  84 ;  of  court  so- 
ciety of  France  with  that  of  Spain, 
Germany,  and  England,  123-4 ;  of 
English  and  French  novelists  of  the 
i8th  century,  199-200;  of  English 
and  French  nobility  in  1774,  279. 

Condillac,  174. 

Condition  of  France  in  the  i8th  cen- 
tury, gloomy,  46. 

Contract,  the  social,  iniquity  of,  229- 
30 ;  theory  of  its  formation,  233-5 ; 
in  France  not  an  historic  fact,  244 ; 
not  an  association  for  mutual  de- 
fence, 245  ;  based  on  the  sovereignty 
of  the  people,  246-251. 

Contrat  Social,  much  quoted,  325 ; 
used  as  a  manual,  318 ;  teaches 
anarchy  and  despotism,  399. 

Convent,  France  a  lay,  247,  248. 

Convents  and  abbeys,  scenes  of  dis- 
play and  hospitality,  119-20. 

Conversation,  value  attached  to,  in  the 
i8th  century,  185  ;  religioE  and  gov- 
ernment subjects  for,  279-81 ;  Ches- 
terfield on,  280 ;  Rousseau  on,  280 ; 
the  business  of  the  day,  281. 

Corvee,  18,  407 ;  substitute  for,  365. 

Court,  attractiveness  of,  44-6 ;  offices, 
68-9  ;  obligation  to  be  present  at, 
zoo- 101 ;  eagerness  to  be  present 
at,  101 ;  advantages  of  being  at, 


101-2;  great  crowd  at,  102;  bril- 
liancy of,  103-4 ;  amusements  at, 
109-11. 

Courts,  miniature,  of  the  nobles, 
114-16. 

Creed  of  the  Republic,  250. 

Crops,  results  from  failures  of,  338-9. 

Curates,  complaints  of,  75,  76-7;  in 
the  States-General,  77. 

Gust  >m  surviving  utility,  86-7. 

Customs,  foundations  of,  208-9. 


D'Argenson,  on  public  disrespect  for 
religion,  288-9 ;  on  the  government, 
294-5 ;  on  public  destitution,  330, 
331-3, 334 ;  on  the  taille,  367 ;  on  the 
peasant,  375. 

Debt,  the  public,  308-9. 

D&cimes,  18. 

Deficit  in  the  public  revenue,  309-10. 

Deism,  215. 

Demand  for  pleasure  hi  the  i8th  cen- 
tury, 127-8. 

Deputies  of  the  people,  not  repre- 
sentatives,but  commissioners,  242-3. 

Destitution,  extreme  general,  state- 
ments of  La  Bruyere  concerning,  in 
1689,  329;  of  St  Simon  in  1725, 
329-30;  of  D'Argenson  in  i739-53i 
33°.  33*~3>  334  '•  oi  Massillonin  1740, 
330- 

Diderot,  219,  220-21 ;  critical  notice 
of,  266-9 1  a  brilliant  talker,  282 ; 
visits  Catherine  II. ,  283. 

Discovery,  scientific,  first  ingredient 
in  French  philosophy,  170-1. 

Display  made  by  clergy  and  abbessest 
119-20. 

Dissolution  of  France,  cause  of,  85. 

Domains,  seigniorial,  crumble  away, 

346-7. 
Donations  of  the  king  to  individual 

nobles,  70-71. 
Drawing-room     life,    unsatisfactory, 

157-9 ;   insincere,   159 ;  cruel,  160. 
Du  Defiant,  Mme.  de,  145,  159. 
Duel,    conducted     with     politer  ess, 

142-3. 

Duras,  Due  de,  pay  of,  117. 
Dwellings  of  peasants,  341,  344. 


4i6 


INDEX. 


Ecclesiastic,  position  of  an,  in  society, 
287-8. 

Education,  of  children  by  theatricals, 
JS4 1  of  princes  and  princesses, 
410-11. 

Eighteenth  Century,  its  discoveries  in 
relation  to  inorganic  matter,  171-2 ; 
to  organic  matter,  172-3 ;  facts  the 
food  of  its  intellect,  173 ;  founda- 
tions of  history  laid  in,  177;  the 
analytic  method  a  discovery  of, 
182-3 ;  English  and  French  novel- 
ists of,  compared,  199-200 ;  intellec- 
tual epicureanism  of,  251 ;  coarse- 
ness of  the  writers  of,  258 ;  their 
humor,  259 ;  peasant  of  the,  374 ; 
philosophy  of  the,  a  subtle  poison, 
170  ;  its  two  main  ingredients,  170 ; 
its  development  in  England,  252-3 ; 
in  France,  253 ;  women  interested 
in,  254,  256,  257 ;  an  object  of  sus- 
picion in  England ;  society  of  the, 
luxury  characteristic  of,  121 ;  man- 
ners of,  122 ;  genius  and  employ- 
ment of,  122 ;  modification  of  eti- 
quette in,  125-6 ;  Talleyrand  on, 
126 ;  demand  for  pleasure  in,  127-8 ; 
conjupal  indifference  the  rule  it, 
131-2 ;  pictures  of  the,  143-4 ;  lack 
of  force  in,  165, 167-9  ;  ignorance  of 
realities  in,  166 ;  value  attached  to 
conversation  in,  185. 

Emigration  of  the  poor,  333. 

Encyclopedists,  216. 

England,  early,  pagan,  therefore  bar- 
barous, 2 ;  feudal  subjection  less 
burdensome  in,  29;  philosophic 
teachings  suspected  in,  278  ;  alli- 
ance between  clergy  and  public 
men  in,  278-9. 

Enthusiasm  obligatory,  162-3. 

Epicureanism,  intellectual,  of  the  i8th 
century,  162-3. 

d'Epinay,  M.,  his  household,  115-16. 

Exaggeration,  tendency  '.>,  326-7. 

Excises,  collected  by  House  of  Or- 
leans. 20-21. 

Excitability,  French,  241. 

Exports,  statistics  of,  307. 

Expression,  art  of,  cultivated  by  the 
French,  253-4.  2S5-6.  2S7. 


Facts,  popular  ignorance  of,  336. 

Failures  of  crops,  results  of,  338-9. 

Feudal  nobility,  wealth  of  certain 
families  of,  41. 

Feudal  proprietor,  charities  of,  33. 

Feudal  rights  and  revenues  in  1783, 
instance  of,  404-10. 

Feudal  subjection  less  burdensome  in 
Germany  and  England,  28-9. 

Feudal  system,  theory  of,  7-8. 

Food,  of  peasants,  337,  341,  342-3, 
344- 

Foundations  of  laws  and  religion, 
205-6 ;  of  customs,  208-9. 

Frederick  II.,  his  opinion  of  French 
court  ceremonial,  109. 

French,  classic,  date  of,  187;  dimin- 
ished vocabulary  of,  187-9 ;  extreme 
accuracy  of,  189 ;  general  expres- 
sions favored  by,  188-9  >  gram- 
matical arrangement  of,  190-1 ; 
value  of,  191;  insufficiency  of,  191-3. 


Gevres,  Due  de,  his  household,  114-15. 

Government,  difficult  to  establish,  26 ; 
when  established,  should  be  pre- 
served, 27. 

H 

Helve"tius,  219. 

Hero,  the  second  ideal  figure,  7. 

History,  foundations  of  modern  study 
of,  177 ;  beginnings  of,  178  ;  natural 
growth  of,  179 ;  interdependence  ol 
parts  in,  179-81 ;  popular  ignorance 
of,  325-6. 

d'Holbach,  Baron,  receptions  at 
house  of,  281-2. 

Household,  a  well-appointed,  94-5; 
of  the  Due  de  Gevres,  114-15 ; 
plunder  in  the,  128. 

Households,  of  the  royal  family,  ex- 
penses of,  98  note;  of  princes  of 
the  blood,  113-14 ;  of  bishops, 
splendor  of,  120-21. 

Hume  received  with  homage  in  Paris, 
283. 

Husbands  and  wives,  independent 
existence  of,  131-3 ;  absence  of 
jealousy  between,  133-4. 


INDEX. 


417 


Ideas,  an  illumination  in  the  salon,  a 

conflagration  in  the  basement,  327-8. 
Ideology,  Condillac's,  257. 
Ignorance,  popular,  of  history,  325-6  ; 

of  facts,  326. 
Impiety  an  indiscretion  in  England, 

-278. 

Indifference,  conjugal,  the  rule,  131-2. 
Individual,  the  human,  development 

of,  181-2. 
Ingredients   of   French    philosophy, 

two,  170. 
fntendants,  36-7,  43-4,  66,  245 ;  their 

testimony  as  to  public  destitution, 

335-6;   as  to   taxes,   356-7,  366-7; 

as  to  vagrancy,  385-6,  387. 

J 

Jansenist,  Paris,  306. 
Jealousy,    absence    of,   among    the 
higher  class,  133-4. 

K 

King,  the,  third  founder  of  social 
order,  9 ;  absolute  power  of,  n ; 
victorious  over  the  nobles,  n  ;  the 
sole  representative  of  the  country, 
60 ;  naturally  sympathetic  with  his 
courtiers,  69 ;  his  donations  to  indi- 
vidual nobles,  70-1 ;  disadvantage 
of  his  position,  77,  79  ;  France  re- 
garded as  the  private  estate  of, 
79-81. 


Laboi ,  cost  of,  350. 

La  Bruyere  compared  with  Rousseau, 

270. 

Lafayette,  299. 
La  Harpe,  his  fiction  of  a  prophecy, 

400-12. 

Land  lying  waste,  337-8. 
Language,  French,  Voltaire's  opinion 

of,   185   note;    superiority    of,    185, 

191.     (See  Classic  French  \ 
Languedoc,  sinecures  in,  67-8. 
Lauzun,   Due  de,  his  way  of  living, 

I34-S  I  Mme.  de,  as  a  cook,  147. 
Lever,  details  of,  104-7. 
Louis  XIV.,  at   Versailles,  91,   ico, 

104;  requires  display  from  his  no- 
27 


bles,  116 ;  elegance  of  his  iranners, 

125. 

Louis  XV.,  on  the  situation,  79;  ex- 
travagance of,  82 ;  his  hunting,  94  ; 

his  amusements,  109,  no. 
Louis  XVI.,  his  attempts  at  reform, 
.  79 ;    his    extravagance,    83-4 ;    his 

hunting,   94,   111-12 ;   his  position, 

108,  109,  no. 
Luxembourg,  la    Marechale  de,   an 

authority  on  manners,  141. 

M 
Magistrates,   compulsory  service  of, 

243-4- 

Man,  insignificance  of,  before  natural 
phenomena,  175-7  ;  prehistoric  con- 
dition of,  178 ;  in  the  abstract,  notion 
of,  233-4 ;  believed  good  and  rea- 
sonable, 235-8,  302,  324. 

"  Manco-Capac,"  tragedy  of,  275. 

Manners,  freedom  of,  149,  150,  153, 
^S-fi;  of  the  clergy,  150-2;  in 
prison,  169. 

Manuscript  copies  of  irreligious 
works,  290. 

"  Marriage  of  Figaro,"  275-6,  318. 

Masquerades,  152-3. 

Masses  for  the  king's  life,  an  index  of 
public  feeling,  316. 

Matter  eternal,  encyclopedic  theory 
of,  217-18. 

Maury,  the  Abbe,  on  the  French 
Academy,  186-7. 

Men,  demand  for,  7. 

Mendicancy,  statistics  of,  387. 

Mesdames,  cost  of  dinners  of,  71. 

Metayers,  338,  340,  341,  343. 

Method,  the  analytic,  182-3 ;  possible 
bad  use  of,  183. 

Mind,  the  classic  mould  of,  184-5 1  its 
existence  how  manifested,  184,  187  • 
historic  force  of,  185 ;  how  formed, 
185-7 ;  its  merits,  193-4 ;  its  faults, 
I94~5-  J97!  generalization  a  pecu- 
liarity of,  195-7;  its  inadequacy  to 
represent  real  life  and  history,  197- 
aoi.  (See  Classic  Spirit.) 

Ministers,  display  made  by,  117-18. 

Mirabeau,  Chateau  de,  absolutism  in, 
30-31 ;  Marquis  de,  on  the  nobility, 
32,  34  ;  on  his  son's  becoming  • 


INDEX. 


lawyer,  311-12 ;  on  peasants,  344-5 ; 

on  taxes,  355-6. 
Mobs,  attacks  upon,  389. 
"  Mceurs,  les"  a  popular  book,  288. 
Molifere,  his  idea  of  a  good  critic,  186. 
Monopoly  by  the  canons  of  St.  Malo, 

62. 
Montesquieu,  174,  179 ;  critical  notice 

of,  260-1 ;  on  religion  in  England, 

278. 
Morals,  encyclopedic  theory  of,  218- 

221. 

Morris,  rjouverneur,  on  French  phi- 
.caipners,  254,  326;  on  French 
peasants,  376. 

N 

Nancy,  Bishop  of,  his  testimony  ia 
1789-  370. 

Nantes,  Edict  of,  revocation,  62. 

Necker,  71,  83,  127. 

Newton,  171. 

Nobles,  gratitude  of  society  towards, 
9;  exempt  from  taxation,  16-17; 
debts  of  the,  53;  all  chief  places 
reserved  for,  64 ;  sinecures  enjoyed 
by,  66-9  ;  complaints  against,  72-3  ; 
highest,  resident  under  the  king's 
roof,  99,  ico;  extravagance  of, 
130-31 ;  objects  of  inveterate  sus- 
picion, 380 ;  statistics  of  number  of, 
402-3.  (See  Aristocracy  and  Priv. 
Classes.) 

"  Nouvelle  Htloise,"  the,  its  effect  on 
women,  273. 


Octrois  of  the  towns  doubled,  368 ; 

extremely  burdensome,  369.     (See 

Taxation.) 
Offices,    sale     of,    54-5 ;     bestowed 

through  favor,  82—3. 
Officials,  display  made  by,  118-19. 
Opinions    on    politics    and    religion 

changed  reluctantly,  277. 
Optimist  views   of   mankind,    235-8, 

302.  3*4- 

Organization,  social,  the  problem, 
232-4. 

Orleans,  House  of,  collects  the  ex- 
cises, 20-21 ;  Duke  of,  his  wealth, 


41 ;  his  debts,  53 ;  pensioned  as  • 
poor  man,  70-1. 


Palais-Royal,  salon  of  the,  80. 

Paris,  the  school  of  Europe,  139 ; 
Jansenist,  306;  the  central  work- 
shop, 308  ;  disorder  in,  388. 

Parliament,  61 ;  remonstrance  of,  in 
1764,  72. 

Parliamentarians,  hospitality  exer- 
cised by,  148-9. 

Passions,  the  masters  of  mankind, 
241,  242. 

Pastime,  a  court,  unravelling,  145-7. 

Peasant,  protected  by  the  noble,  7,  8 ; 
original  mutual  relations  of  noble 
and,  8-9 ;  of  the  i8th  century,  his 
personal  appearance,  342,  344-5; 
idleness,  343  ;  economy,  345-6,  347 ; 
becomes  a  land-owner,  346-7 ;  op- 
pression of,  348  ;  his  mind,  374-7.; 
D'Argenson  on,  375  ;  belongs  to  the 
Middle  Ages,  375 ;  Gouverneur 
Morris  on,  376;  superstitions  of; 
375-7  I  wild  hallucinations  of,  377-9; 
insolence  of,  379. 

Pensions,  69,  70,  71,  84,  117. 

People,  a  monster  let  loose,  399 ; 
sovereignty  of,  242-4,  246-51. 

Philosopher,  a,  essential  to  a  salon,  283. 

Philosophy,  the  fashion,  254-5  \  per- 
vading  all  literature,  274-5 !  the 
social  pastime,  280-1. 

Plunder  by  the  king's  purveyors,  129 ; 
in  the  houses  of  the  nobles,  129-30. 

Poachers,  381. 

Political  economy  the  fashion,  297. 

Poll-tax,  evaded  by  the  clergy,  363 ; 
evaded  in  part  by  the  nobles,  364  ; 
statistics  of,  364.  (See  Taxation.) 

Poverty  of  the  old  families,  38. 

Prelates,  wealth  of,  65-6,  75  ;  splendoi 
of  their  households,  120-21.  (See 
Clergy  and  Privileged  Classes.) 

Prejudice,  hereditary,  to  be- respected, 
207-8,  211. 

Primogeniture,  right  of,  its  effects, 
38-9. 

Princes  of  the  blood,  wealth  of,  15-16, 
41 ;  sharers  in  royal  rights,  20-21 ; 
gifts  to,  70-1  ;  households  of,  113- 


INDEX. 


14;  and  princesses,  education  of, 
410-11. 

**rincesses,  expenses  of,  128-9. 
*rivileged  classes,  founders  of  society, 

i ;  statistics  of,  13,  402-3 ;  property 

belonging  to,  14;  escape  taxation, 

362-8.     (See  Aristocracy,  Nobles, 

etc.) 
Privileges  changed  into  abuses,  59, 

398. 

Productiveness  of  French  and  Eng- 
lish acre  compared,  339. 
Properties,  small,  development  of,  347 

note. 
Property,  rights  of,  theory  concerning, 

246-7. 
Prqphecy,   La  Harpe's  fiction  of  a, 

400-2. 
Proprietor,  landed,  a  lesser  sovereign, 

16, 43 ;  peasant  becomes  a,  345-6, 

347;  taxes  on,  347-8. 
Protestants,     oppression      of,    62-3 ; 

edicts    against,  obtained    by    the 

clergy,  62-3. 
Puffs  au  sentiment,  161-2. 


Reason,  the  age  of,  204-5 ;  of  the 
i8th  century  unable  to  comprehend 
tradition,  211 ;  ignorant  of  his- 
tory, 211-12;  lacking  in  imagina- 
tion, 212-14;  in  arms  against  tradi- 
tion, 214 ;  its  quarrel  with  estab- 
lished religion,  214-15 ;  its  first 
campaign,  214 ;  its  second,  216 ;  ad- 
mks  a  natural  religion,  215 ;  its 
quarrel  with  the  Jaws,  215-16 ;  ad- 
mits a  natural  law,  216 ;  in  mankind 
a  fragile  composition,  238 ;  rare, 
239-40 ;  its  influence  small,  240-2. 

Reaumur,  172, 173. 

Reforms,  attempted  by  Louis  XVI., 
79  ;  inaugurated  by  the  aristocracy, 
300-2. 

Religion,  its  nature,  209-10 ;  attacked 
"by  the  upper  class,  287-94 ;   forms  j 
of  respect  for,  retained,  291-2. 

Remonstrance  of  parliament  ir  1764, 
72. 

Restraints  burdensome,  284-6. 

Residences,  royal,  97. 

Revenue,  deficit  in,  309-10. 


Revenues  and  rights,  feudal,  In  1783 
404-10. 

Roads,  bad  state  of,  339. 

Rohan,  Prince  de,  117 ;  Cardinals  de, 
120-21. 

Roland,  Mme.,  320. 

Rousseau,  160-1,174;  an  exceptional 
character,  221-2 ;  imagines  himself 
the  type,  222  ;  a  self-admirer,  222-3; 
advances  new  theory  of  morals, 
223-4  ;  an  embittered  plebeian,  225- 
6,  228 ;  disdains  science  and  art, 
226-7 ;  attacks  established  rights, 
227-8  ;  the  champion  of  the  poor, 
228-9  •  condemns  the  social  con- 
tract, 229-30;  compared  with  Vol- 
taire, 268 ;  critical  notice  of,  269-74 ; 
compared  with  La  Bruyere,  270; 
on  conversation,  280;  his  doctrine 
popular,  316-17 ;  fosters  French 
vanity,  320. 

Royalty,  services  rendered  by,  10 ; 
gratitude  towards,  10,  u. 


Salt,  tax  on,  358-60;  contraband 
dealers  in,  381-2. 

Scientists,  leaders  of  public  opinion, 
I73-4- 

Sees,  endowments  of,  42-3. 

Scgur,  de,  on  the  state  of  public  senti- 
ment, 298-9. 

Seignior,  foundation  of  early  rights 
of,  8, 9 ;  rights  on  his  own  domain, 
21-6 ;  possible  transformation  of, 
26-7;  friendliness  of,  towards  his 
tenants,  35-6. 

Sentiments  developed  in  the  middle 
class,  315-16. 

Sensibility,  affectation  of,  160-5. 

Severity  of  agents,  52-3. 

Sieyes,  on  the  aristocracy,  322. 

Sinecures,  enjoyed  by  the  nobles, 
66-9. 

Smugglers,  381-2 ;  large  troops  of, 
382-3, 

Society,  privileged  classes  founders 
of,  i ;  fondness  for,  a  French  trait: 
124 ;  French,  delightful  charactei 
of,  138 ;  faultlessly  polite,  139 ;  ex 
treme  self-control  required  by,  139- 
40 ;  gallantry  towards  women,  140- 


INDEX. 


I ;  perfect  tact  of,  141-2  ;  cheerful 
tone  of,  147-8 ;  Voltaire's  definition 
of,  186 ;  to  we  abolished,  221 ;  de- 
tached from  Christianity,  291-2 ; 
disintegration  of,  393-5. 

Sovereign  authority,  Louis  XV.'s 
views  of,  ii  note. 

Spall, mzani,  172. 

Starvation  an  endemic  disease,  339. 

State,  origin  of  the,  210-11 ;  substitu- 
tion of,  for  the  individual,  246-50. 

Statement    of    popular    grievances, 

370-3- 

States-General,  60. 

St.  Cloud,  "  a  ring,"  80-1. 

Suffering,  extreme,  revealed  in  ad- 
ministrative correspondence,  335-7. 

Suicide  of  the  old  regime,  398. 

Superiority,  question  of,  between 
nobles  and  plebeians,  314-15. 


Table-service,  95-& 

Taille,  the,  17,  19,  84,  332,  406,  412-13 ; 
amount  of,  348;  exemption  of  no- 
bles and  clergy  from  the,  362-3; 
pays  heavy  public  expenses,  363 ; 
unjust  apportionment  of,  363 ; 
D'Argr,nson  on,  367.  (See  Taxa- 
tion. ) 

Taxation,  exemption  of  nobles  from, 
16,  17 ;  of  clergy,  18  ;  regarded  a 
mark  of  servitude,  19 ;  seigniorial 
rights  of,  22-3;  evaded  by  privi- 
leged classes,  61 ;  of  peasants,  341-2 ; 
too  burdensome,  349-51 ;  statistics 
of,  direct,  350-4 ;  Marquis  de  Mira- 
beau  on,  355-6 ;  indirect,  358-62 ; 
evaded  by  the  strong,  362 ;  falls 
heaviest  on  the  poorest  and  most 
industrious,  365-6 ;  rate  of  direct, 
412-13.  (See  Taille,  etc.) 

Tenth  Century,  the  noble  of  the,  6-7. 

Theatricals,  a  court  amusement,  148, 
153-6 ;  employed  in  education,  154  ; 
at  Trianon,  154-5. 

Theory,  of  feudal  system,  7-8 ;  of 
royal  ownership  of  France,  79-81 ; 
encyclopedic,  in  respect  to  matter, 
217-18;  of  morals,  218-221;  of  mor- 
als, Rousseau's,  223-4 ;  concerning 
rights,  246-7;  concerning  educa- 


tion ;  247-9 '  not  to  be  reduced  to 
practice,  286-7;  of  popular  rights 
reduced  to  practice,  396-7. 

Third  Estate,  long  ignorant  and  silent, 
305-7  ;  increased  wealth  of,  307-8 ; 
becomes  the  public  creditor,  308-9 ; 
anxious  about  its  money,  310-11  • 
has  risen  socially,  311,  312-13  ;  its 
claims,  323-4  ;  leaders  of  the,  395-6. 

Throne,  first  attacks  upon,  294-5. 

Town  favored  above  country  in  tax- 
ation, 366. 

Tradition,  authority  of,  declines,  207. 

Trianon,  village  at,  163 ;  theatricals 
at,  154-5. 

Turgot,  his  characterization  of  a  vil- 
lage, 78. 

U 

Unravelling,  a  court  pastime,  145-7. 
Utopia,  the   theoretical,  brought  to 
perfection,  394-5. 


Vagrancy,  rise  of,  380-1. 

Vagrants,  increase  of,  383-4 ;  meas- 
ures against,  384. ;  crowds  of,  386 ; 
intendants'  reports  on,  385-6,  387. 

Vanity,  French,  fostered  by  Rous- 
seau, 320. 

Versailles,  peculiar  character  of,  87 ; 
hotels  of  nobles  in,  88  ;  accessories 
of  the  palace,  88-9  ;  avenues  of,  89 ; 
cost  of  palace,  90 ;  households  ol 
royal  family  at,  91-2  ;  king's  guards, 
92-3  ;  stables,  93-4 ;  hunting  estab- 
lishment, 94. 

Vingtibmes,  17  note,  18,  19;  reduced 
by  privileged  classes,  364-5.  (Sea 
Taxation.) 

Voltaire,  173-4;  his  opinion  of  French 
language,  185  note;  attacks  reli- 
gion, 215 ;  a  deist,  217  ;  critical  no- 
tice of,  261-6 ;  a  guest  of  Frederick 
II.,  283 ;  triumphant  reception  on 
his  return,  283-4  ;  on  the  situation 
in  1750,  294. 

W 
Walpole    (Sir   Horace),   on   French 

imprudence,  289. 
Wine-tax,  360-8. 


INDEX. 


W»neB,  Interested  m  philosophy,  234, 
2S6>  257  ;  devoted  to  science.  290-1 ; 
advance  ideas  of  liberty,  295-6 ;  of 
humanity,  296-7 ;  criticize  the  gov- 
ernment, 296  ;  enthusiasm  of,  297. 

Words,  number  of,  in  dictionary  of 
old  French  Academy,  192  note. 

Writers ,  four  great  philosophic,  259- 
•74 


Young,  Arthur,  his  observations  in 
1787,  16  note,  45,  46,  48,  40-50 ;  on 
Bordeaux,  307-8 ;  compares  tha 
French  and  English  acre,  339;  ar- 
rested as  an  agent  of  the  queen, 
377 ;  on  disorder  in  Paris,  388 ;  on 
public  ignorance,  394-5. 


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United  States,  Great  Britain  and  Germany. 

The  Courtot  Memoirs 

The  Memoirs  of  the  Baroness  Cecile  de  Courtot,  Lady-in- Waiting 
to  the  Princess  de  Lamballe, 

Edited  by  MORITZ  VON  KAISENBERG. 
Translated  by  Miss  JESSIE  HAYNES. 

298pp.     fa. oo. 

This  notable  narrative  of  the  love  and  adventures  of  the 
Baroness  includes  remarkably  vivid  descriptions  of  France  dur- 
ing the  Terror,  Prussia  under  Frederick  William  III.  and  the 
beautiful  Queen  Louise,  and  France  under  the  all-powerful  First 
Consul. 
N.  Y.  TIMES  SATURDAY  REVIEW: 

"It  has  all  the  charm  of  a  good  historical  novel.  .  .  . 
The  entire  volume  will  be  found  of  much  interest,  mainly 
through  the  great  human  interest  centering  around  the 
friendship  of  these  two  devoted  women,  Cecile  and  Annaliebe, 
as  well  as  through  the  historical  details  introduced,  which 
are  all  graphically  and  fully  treated." 

OUTLOOK: 

"This  delightful  Memoir.  .  .  .  Some  of  the  most  in- 
teresting impressions  of  the  great  ruler  (Napoleon)  which 
have  yet  appeared  The  Memoir  reads  like  a  novel." 

N.  Y.  TRIBUNE: 

"The  book  is  one  of  the  strangest  and  most  amusing 
ever  produced  in  the  department  of  revolutionary  literature. 
.  .  .  The  Baroness  is  charming,  and  has  much  to  say 
about  many  interesting  personalities  and  events." 

PALL  MALL  GAZETTE  (London) : 

"We  are  admitted  behind  the  scenes  and  mingle  with 
the  actors  in  perhaps  the  most  powerful  drama  the  world 
has  ever  witnessed  ...  A  most  fascinating  book.  Here 
is  a  period  that  we  have  read  about  from  our  youth  up  .  . 
and  we  might  almost  say  that  we  see  it  now  for  the  first 
time." 

HOME  JOURNAL: 

"The  pages  are  certainly  of  unusual  interest,  showing 
intimacy  with  personages  and  places,  and  throwing  _  such 
light  on  them  that  we  seem  to  see  them  almost  as  if  we 
were  eye-witnesses.  .  .  Filled  with  tragedy  and  romance." 

HENRY    HOLT    AND    COMPANY, 

19  W.  a  3d  Street,  (Xii,  '03).  NEW  YORK. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  ILUNOI9-URBANA 


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